thank you for tuning in to 108.9 night fm. i'm your host, nyx. i am a 21 year old who's into a lot of things and telling stories are one of them.
i will be here with you for four days a week with our shows mixtape mondays where i'll be throwing us back into time with old timey songs from the 90s and backwards.
don't be afraid to let loose and show us those moves for poppin' tuesdays because we'll be partying with gnarly songs that'll keep your heart and blood pumping.
get ready to laugh, cry, and get angry with me during story time thursdays where i'll be supplying you with stories you'll be sure to get hooked on.
and lastly, i'm shouting out my filipino pride on opm fridays to showcase the great musical talents us filipinos have.
missed your favourite shows or your favourite host?
catch up on previous broadcasts
so sit back and relax, leave all of your problems and worries behind and let your imaginations run wild and dream with me only on 108.9 night fm.
sweet dreams!
on queue:
story time thursdays - only you - aiah arceta x f!reader (postponed due to storyline issues)
I’m BEGGING for the new chapter of the Alex Cabot series. I literally check your profile EVERYDAY. I’ll do whatever you need🥲
𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝑰𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ~ Chapter Nine (Alex Cabot & Casey Novak x Fem Reader)
alex cabot & casey novak x fem reader
sorry for making you wait so long anon, here's your new chapter <3
word count: 6.7 lol
Alex is trying. You know she is. But as the campaign consumes your lives and old patterns begin to return, the things you’ve been avoiding become impossible to ignore.
Read on AO3
𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒆 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕y
Casey’s standing there like she belongs exactly where she is. Like she didn’t interrupt anything, didn’t collide with a thought you were trying to keep under control. Just arrived, simple as that, and somehow the air around her feels still.
“You look like you’ve been personally insulted by cereal,” she says, glancing into your basket.
It catches you off guard. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.
“I have not.”
“Mhm.” She nods solemnly. “The cereal aisle would disagree.”
That does it. Something in your chest loosens in a way you don’t have to earn. Don’t have to explain.
You walk together.
No announcement, no transition. Just suddenly side by side in the fluorescent hum of the store, wheels of baskets whispering over tile.
It’s easier here. That’s the simplest way to put it. Not lighter exactly, but less tight around the edges.
Casey drifts into commentary almost immediately, like she’s narrating a life she’s mildly offended to be part of.
“You’re buying the saddest-looking bananas I’ve ever seen. That’s impressive.”
“They’re fine.”
“They’re plotting something.”
You snort. “Is this fruit theory now?”
“I stay informed.”
She reaches past you at one point to grab something off the shelf, entirely unnecessary because she could’ve just asked, but she leans in close enough that you feel the movement more than you see it.
“Also,” she adds, inspecting whatever she grabbed, “can I please help you with your terrible food choices?”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“You don’t have to.” A pause. “It’s a public service at this point.”
There’s something in the ease of it that keeps catching you off guard. Not because it’s loud or bright, but because it doesn’t demand anything from you to continue existing in it.
No reading between lines. No careful deliberation.
Just Casey, lightly orbiting you like she’s decided you’re worth staying near. And the worst part is how safe that feels.
Because home has weight to it. Rules that don’t get spoken out loud but still press into everything you do. Even silence there feels monitored, like it might be graded later.
Here, Casey is noise that doesn’t hurt. Noise that your chest yearns for.
At one point she pauses in front of a shelf of snacks, tilting her head
“You ever just stand here and feel like the chips are talking to you?”
“I think that’s just you.”
She looks offended. “I’m deeply emotionally vulnerable in the chip aisle and this is how you treat me?”
That pulls another laugh out of you, easier this time. More natural. Like it has somewhere to go.
You move through the rest of the store like that. Not rushing. Not lingering too much either. Just existing in the same lane, basket wheels occasionally bumping when you drift too close, neither of you bothering to correct it.
By the time you reach the register, the world feels less divided inside your head.
The fluorescent lights are still too bright. The shelves still too orderly.
But you’re not as split down the middle of it anymore.
“You going to attempt self-checkout or do you trust humans today?” Casey asks, already steering toward a regular register.
“I don’t trust self-checkout machines,” you admit.
“Smart. They’re always watching.”
“That’s not–”
“Don’t question it.”
The line is short. Quiet. You end up side by side anyway, baskets resting on the belt at nearly the same time. The cashier barely glances up, scanning with practised rhythm.
“If this card declines, I want it on record that I was morally supportive throughout this entire financial operation.”
“You didn’t pay for anything yet.”
“That’s a technicality. Emotional investment counts.”
You shake your head, but you’re smiling. It’s not loud. It doesn’t need to be.
Outside, the night air is cooler than the store. Cleaner. Less artificial.
You walk out together, bags in hand, keys already appearing like it’s instinct rather than decision. The parking lot is mostly empty, streetlights pooling gold onto asphalt.
Casey tilts her head toward your car first. “Alright. I’m supervising your loading process. I need to make sure those bananas survive.”
“They’re fine,” you repeat.
“They’re still plotting.”
You both load your groceries at the same time anyway, cars parked close enough that the space between them feels temporary rather than final. Plastic bags rustle. Doors thud shut. Everything small and ordinary and oddly grounding.
For a moment, neither of you moves to leave. Just the sound of distant traffic. The hum of the world continuing without asking anything from you.
Casey leans lightly against her car door, watching you like she’s not in a hurry to turn this into anything other than what it is.
“Hey,” she says, softer now.
Not demanding attention. And somehow, that feels like the easiest thing in the world to answer.
Then, without shifting her gaze from you, she says, “Can I ask you something?”
The tone changes before the words even finish forming. Not sharp. Not heavy.
“Yeah,” you say, but it comes out slower than you mean it to.
Casey nods once, like she’s committing to not backing out of the question now that it’s out in the open.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she adds, and that alone already feels like a kind of kindness you didn’t realise you were missing.
A beat.
Then she asks, “Do you actually get to breathe when you’re there?”
It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does. Because there’s no accusation in it. Just a question that sounds like it was built carefully, so it wouldn’t break anything while it was being asked.
Your stomach tightens anyway.
Guilt arrives fast and uninvited, thick enough that you feel it in your throat. Not because she’s wrong. Not because she’s right either. But because she’s noticed. Because she’s seen enough to ask.
And because some part of you already knows the answer before you even try to form it.
“I…” you start, then stop.
Casey doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence. Just waits, steady against her car door like she’s giving you room to exist inside the question without rushing you out of it.
It makes it worse, somehow. And better.
“I don’t know,” you admit finally, quieter than anything you’ve said tonight.
It’s not the full truth. But it’s close enough to hurt.
Casey’s expression shifts, just slightly. Not disappointment. Not surprise. Something more careful than either of those.
“I figured,” she says, and there’s no satisfaction in it. Just understanding that lands too gently to argue with.
Your chest feels too tight now, like everything you didn’t say at home has followed you out here and decided to speak at once.
“I’m not trying to make it sound like…” you begin, then falter again, searching for a shape that won’t turn into something unfair. “It’s not simple.”
“I didn’t think it was,” Casey replies.
That does it. The steadiness in her voice cracks something open rather than pressing on it.
You glance up at her. She’s still watching you, but not in a way that demands anything. It almost feels like she’s just… staying close to make sure you don’t disappear mid-thought.
And that makes it harder.
Because you can feel it now, clearly. What this is doing. What it’s not.
The space between you tonight isn’t neutral anymore. It never really was. It just felt easier to stand in.
“I should go,” you say, and it lands wrong in your mouth, like it belongs somewhere else but still insists on being said.
Casey doesn’t react immediately.
Then she nods once. Small. Controlled.
“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”
A pause stretches between you, thin and fragile.
You swallow, and it tastes like guilt.
“Alex is waiting,” you add, as if that explains everything. As if it smooths the edges of what you’re doing here.
It doesn’t. Casey’s eyes flicker at the name, just briefly, then settle again.
You don’t know what she’s thinking. She’s never made it easy to tell.
“I’m trying to work on things with her,” you say, and even as the words leave you, they feel vague. Not a lie. Not fully a truth either. Just something soft enough to carry you out of the moment without breaking it completely.
Casey nods again, slower this time.
“Alright,” she says.
Not cold, but not warm either. Just accepting in a way that somehow makes your chest ache more than if she’d argued.
You open your driver’s door.
The sound is more final than it should be. And still, neither of you moves right away, like the moment hasn’t decided what it wants to become next.
“Okay,” she repeats, softer this time. “Drive safe, yeah?”
You should leave on that. You know you should. But your body doesn’t move towards the seat. Neither does hers. It’s like the space between you is holding its breath, waiting to see which way it collapses.
Then Casey steps forward.
Not sudden. Not dramatic. Just a quiet closing of distance that feels deliberate in a way she’s trying not to make obvious.
“Hey,” she says again, and this time it’s gentler. “Come here.”
It isn’t a question, but it also doesn’t feel like a demand. Something in your chest gives way before you even decide.
You walk into her.
The hug lands warm and real and immediate, like your body recognises something your mind has been arguing with all night. Casey wraps her arms around you in a way that feels steady, not tight, just sure. Present.
And for a second, everything else falls away.
The parking lot, the car, the weight of what you just said, what you didn’t say, all of it loosens its grip.
She smells faintly like clean fabric and something soft underneath it, warm and familiar in a way that makes your thoughts stumble. Your hands hover for half a second before settling against her back, like you’re testing whether you’re allowed to hold on.
You are. Her hold doesn’t change. It just stays there, like she’s decided this moment gets to exist fully before it ends. Then your mind does something treacherous with the quiet.
It drifts.
Not in a way you want it to. Not in a way you asked for.
Just a flicker of awareness. The feel of her close enough that you can’t ignore how solid she is, how real. The way your body reacts before your thoughts catch up, a confusing heat that makes your stomach tighten with something that feels too close to vulnerability to name properly.
You hate it and don’t at the same time. Your breath stutters slightly against her shoulder. Casey shifts, just a fraction, like she feels it even if she doesn’t comment on it.
You lift your head without meaning to. She’s already looking at you.
Her expression is softer than it’s been all night. No teasing now. No jokes tucked behind her eyes. Just something steady and aware, like she understands exactly what this moment is doing to you without needing it spelt out.
For a second, neither of you speaks. Then Casey smiles. Small. Not triumphant. Not sad either. Just knowing in a way that doesn’t push.
She lifts one hand and gently guides your head back to her shoulder, not forcing, just encouraging, like she’s reminding you where you chose to be a moment ago.
“There you go,” she murmurs.
It isn’t patronising, but grounding. Like she’s acknowledging the fracture in you without trying to widen it.
“I know,” she adds quietly, after a beat. “This is hard.”
Your grip tightens slightly at her back, because it is. Because she’s saying it out loud makes it harder to pretend it isn’t.
“But I’m not going to make it harder for you,” she continues, voice still low, still close. “Even if I want to.”
It’s not pressure you’re dealing with; it’s restraint. It’s care that has a line it refuses to cross.
You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself stay there just a second longer than feels safe.
Then, slowly, you pull back. Casey lets you go without resistance, her hands falling away like they were never holding on too tightly to begin with.
“Go on,” she says gently. “Before I change my mind and start giving you unsolicited snack recommendations again.”
A faint laugh slips out of you, shaky at the edges.
“Wouldn’t want that.”
“Too late,” she says. “Already planning it.”
And somehow, even with everything still tangled inside you, you manage to turn toward your car.
The car door shuts with a soft, final click that feels louder than it should, and for a moment, you don’t start the engine.
Your hands just rest there on the steering wheel, like your body hasn’t caught up with the fact that the hug is over.
Casey’s warmth still clings to you in fragments. Not in any physical sense anymore, but in the way your chest doesn’t quite settle back into its usual shape. Like something was pressed into place and hasn’t fully released.
You exhale slowly. Your breath as warm as your body’s growing.
The parking lot light hums above you. The world outside the windshield looks ordinary again, almost insultingly so. Other cars. Empty trolleys. The quiet churn of a place that doesn’t know anything important just happened in it.
You start the car. The engine turns over gently, and that alone feels like a decision.
Driving home stretches time in a strange way.
The roads are familiar, too familiar. Every set of lights feels like an interruption rather than a pause. Your mind keeps slipping back without permission.
Casey’s voice first. Not the words exactly. The tone. The steadiness of it. The way she didn’t rush you even when you were clearly already halfway gone.
Then the hug.
Not as a thought you can examine properly, but as a feeling your body keeps replaying in small, disobedient echoes. The safety of it. The lack of pressure. The way it didn’t ask you to be anything other than yourself.
And that’s what makes it stick, because nothing at home feels like that.
At some point you realise you’ve been gripping the wheel too tightly.
You loosen your fingers.
The guilt follows after the warmth, slower but heavier. It doesn’t arrive as a single thought, just a layered awareness that builds quietly in the background. Alex. The expectations. The version of you that knows how things are supposed to be.
And then Casey again, uninvited, not as an argument, but as a contrast you can’t unsee.
By the time your street comes into view, you’re hyper-aware of the throbbing at your core. You park. Taking a moment to deep breathe, as if that’ll remove the specific ache Casey has left within you.
The house is there, lit in the familiar way it always is, as if it has been waiting for you without changing its expression.
You don’t move right away. Your hand stays on the key for a second too long. Because whatever you left in that parking lot with Casey, it didn’t stay there, and you’re not entirely sure yet what you’re supposed to do with that.
The porch light spills across the driveway in a warm amber glow. Home.
You'd pictured coming back here the entire drive, trying to prepare yourself for the shift. For the invisible weight that always seemed to settle over your shoulders the closer you got.
You hadn't realised how obvious that feeling had become until tonight.
The grocery bag handles bite into your fingers as you make your way to the front door. Your keys jingle softly against the lock before the familiar click echoes through the quiet house.
The smell of home greets you first. A candle burning somewhere in the living room, laundry detergent lingering faintly in the air. Normal. Comfortingly, painfully normal.
“Hey?”
Alex's voice carries from the kitchen before you've even managed to close the door.
She rounds the corner a second later, phone abandoned on the counter the moment she sees you.
"There you are."
Her smile is immediate.
"I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."
You feel your stomach tighten.
"I ran into someone," you say, setting the bags down by the island before your arms have a chance to protest.
Alex nods easily.
"Oh?"
"It was Casey."
Something flickers across her face. It’s not suspicion; it’s recognition.
“The ADA?”
You nod.
“We ended up talking. We recognised each other from events we’ve met at.”
“Oh.”
It’s such a small word. She doesn’t ask how long, doesn’t ask about what.
Instead, she walks over, already reaching for two of the heavier bags before you’ve even straightened up.
“I managed to finish up everything I needed to do,” she says lightly. “You should’ve called when you were almost here; I would’ve helped you get inside.”
“I was okay.”
“I know.”
She smiles again, softer this time.
“I still would’ve.”
The words settle somewhere uncomfortably warm inside your chest.
She turns toward the kitchen, unpacking almost automatically. Frozen vegetables disappear into the freezer, milk into the fridge, bread onto the bench.
You can’t remember the last time she unpacked for you; rather, she’d always watch from a distance, finding anything to scrutinise.
"You seriously saved dinner tomorrow," she says over her shoulder. "Thank you."
"It's just groceries."
“I know.”
She closes the freezer and looks back at you.
"But you still went out this late."
A small shrug.
"I appreciate it."
The guilt presses harder, because she’s trying. You can see it. Not in grand gestures or rehearsed apologies, but in little things that would be easy to miss if you weren't looking.
You help finish unpacking, settling cans into the pantry while Alex slides containers around in the fridge to make room.
For a few quiet minutes, the rhythm is easy. Plastic rustles, cupboard doors open and close. Neither of you says much. Then Alex laughs quietly to herself.
“I remembered.”
You glance over.
“What?”
“I forgot to tell you, I picked up that peppermint tea you like a couple of days ago.”
She points toward the cupboard beside the kettle.
"The one you could never find last week."
Your eyes follow her hand, and sure enough, the familiar box sits neatly on the shelf.
"I figured..." She rubs the back of her neck, suddenly looking almost shy. "You always seem calmer after a cup."
The words catch you off guard. Not because they’re extraordinary, but because they’re observant. You can’t think of the last time she noticed. The last time she remembered. The last time she tried.
“Thanks,” you say quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
Alex closes the pantry door and lets out a satisfied little sigh.
"There."
Then she looks at you properly for the first time since you walked in.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
She steps closer. Her hands find your waist first before sliding around your back, drawing you into a familiar embrace.
You melt into it automatically. Years of habit. Years of knowing exactly where your arms fit around her.
Her chin rests briefly against the top of your head before she presses a gentle kiss against your forehead.
“Thank you,” she murmurs again.
“I’m really glad you’re home.”
You close your eyes. The hug is warm. It’s loving; it’s home. But somewhere inside it, you become aware of yourself.
Your hands, your posture, whether you’ve hugged her back tightly enough, whether you’re holding on too long.
Whether she can feel how distracted you’ve been all evening.
The thoughts arrive without permission, one after the other, quiet as breathing.
With Casey…
They hadn’t.
For one impossible moment in that parking lot, you'd forgotten to think about yourself at all.
The realisation lands so softly it almost escapes you. Not because Alex is doing anything wrong.
She's holding you exactly the way she always has, but the difference isn’t in her. It’s in the version of yourself that only seems to exist when someone asks nothing of you except to be there.
Alex pulls back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing lightly across your side.
"You okay?"
You open your eyes. She looks genuinely concerned.
“Tired,” you say with a small smile.
“It’s been a long day.”
Alex studies you for half a heartbeat before nodding.
“Then let’s make some tea.”
Another kiss to your forehead. It’s gentle, it’s affectionate, but somehow the guilt hurts more than if she hadn’t tried at all.
Alex doesn’t push.
She never has, at least not when she can see you're running low on whatever energy you had left to give that day.
Instead, she offers you a small, understanding smile, the kind that reaches her eyes even if there's still a flicker of concern sitting quietly behind it.
"Tea," she says again, her voice gentle enough to smooth over the silence that had settled between you. "Then bed?"
You nod, managing a tired smile of your own.
“Yeah.”
The kettle hums softly as it comes to a boil, filling the kitchen with a familiar domestic rhythm that you've heard so many times it almost fades into the background. Alex moves around the space with a warmth about her, reaching into the cupboard for your peppermint tea before pausing with the box in her hands.
“Honey?”
You glance up from where you’re leaning against the counter.
“What?”
“In your tea,” she clarifies, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve been putting honey in it lately.”
You hadn’t realised she’d noticed.
“I have been,” you reply with a quiet smile. “Please.”
She stirs it without another word before carrying the mug over to you, waiting until your fingers had wrapped securely around the warmth before letting go.
“There.”
The mug feels comforting between your hands, the heat seeping into your palms as you lift it for a careful sip. The peppermint is familiar, soothing in a way that makes your shoulders loosen just slightly, even if it can't quite reach the knot that's been sitting stubbornly in your chest all evening.
Alex watches you for a second, seemingly satisfied that you're actually drinking it before nodding toward the hallway.
"I'm going to get changed," she says. "Take your time."
Lights are switched off one by one as you make your way through the kitchen. The dishwasher hums quietly beneath the counter after Alex loads the last of the mugs inside, and somewhere in the living room, a lamp is left on just long enough for one final check that the front door is locked before the rest of the house falls into a comfortable quiet.
By the time you finish your tea, only the bedroom light remains.
When you step into the room, Alex is already in bed.
She's sitting comfortably against the headboard with a book resting open across her lap, reading glasses slipping just slightly down her nose in a way that always makes her look softer somehow.
She looks up as soon as you appear in the doorway.
“There you are.”
A smile spreads easily across her face.
“Feeling any better?”
“A little.”
“I’m glad.”
She doesn't ask what happened, and she doesn’t ask why you’re quiet.
Instead, she slides a bookmark between the pages of her book before setting it carefully on the bedside table.
“I was waiting for you.”
Something inside your chest tightens almost immediately.
You disappear into the bathroom to brush your teeth, changing into one of Alex's old university T-shirts on the way back. It had somehow become yours years ago, one of those small exchanges that happened so gradually neither of you could remember when it started.
When you climb beneath the covers, the mattress dips gently beneath your weight.
Alex reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp, leaving only the pale wash of moonlight filtering through the curtains to illuminate the room.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence doesn’t feel awkward; both of you know you’re equally tired.
“You cold?” Alex asks eventually.
You shake your head, moving closer to her.
“No.”
“You sure?”
Before you can answer again, her hand finds your waist beneath the blankets, her fingers stroking gently on your skin as though she'd done it a thousand times before.
Because she has.
Her thumb strokes lazily across your back, slow and absent-minded, the kind of touch that comes more from habit than intention.
"I worry about you sometimes," she admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper in the darkness.
"You've seemed... somewhere else lately."
The words land softly, but they still find their mark.
You tighten your fingers around hers without thinking.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey.”
She shifts a little closer, just enough that her legs touch yours more.
"You don't have to apologise, I know it’s been hard lately.”
“I know.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
Another slow stroke of her thumb.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Alex lifts your hand just enough to press a gentle kiss against your knuckles before letting them settle back onto the mattress.
“I love you.”
The words come easily.
They always have.
You turn your head just enough to meet her eyes in the darkness.
“I love you too.”
You mean it. Entirely.
Alex shifts closer until you're tucked naturally against her, one arm draped loosely around your waist while the other remains beneath her pillow. She continues tracing slow, absent circles against your side, the movement gradually slowing as sleep starts to pull at her.
Within a few minutes, her breathing deepens.
You lie awake listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, staring into the darkness while your thoughts quietly drift back over the evening.
The groceries. The tea she’d remembered. The way she’d thanked you more than once. The forehead kiss. The patient questions she never pushed you to answer. Every small thing she'd done tonight had been another way of saying I'm trying.
You can see it now. You can feel it.
And still, when you search your memory for the moment your shoulders had finally relaxed, for the moment your mind had stopped racing long enough to simply exist…
You find yourself standing beneath amber streetlights in an almost-empty parking lot.
"Come here."
The memory is painfully gentle.
Not because of the embrace itself, but because, for a few brief minutes, you'd forgotten to monitor yourself entirely.
You hadn't been wondering whether you were saying the right thing, whether you were reacting correctly. Whether someone needed something from you.
The guilt arrives almost immediately afterwards.
You turn carefully toward Alex, taking care not to wake her.
In sleep, every trace of worry has disappeared from her face. She looks younger somehow, softer, the crease that had settled between her eyebrows earlier in the evening completely gone.
You reach up, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear with the lightest touch you can manage.
"I'm trying," you whisper into the darkness.
You aren't entirely sure whether you're saying it to Alex, to yourself, or to the version of your life that suddenly feels far more uncertain than it did yesterday.
Eventually, exhaustion wins.
Curled safely in Alex's arms, with your heart still divided between gratitude, guilt, and something you aren't ready to name, you let sleep find you.
Morning arrives slowly.
You wake before your alarm, the room still washed in the pale blue light that comes just before sunrise. For a few quiet moments, you don't move, letting yourself drift somewhere between sleep and consciousness as the house remains perfectly still around you.
Alex stirs beside you with a sleepy sigh, burying her face a little further into your shoulder before her arm instinctively tightens around your waist.
"Mmm..." she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep. "You're awake."
“Barely.”
A sleepy smile brushes against your skin.
“Liar.”
You can’t help smiling back.
Her hair is a mess, flattened on one side where she'd spent the night curled against you. Without her glasses and before she's fully awake, there's something disarmingly soft about her. Younger, somehow. Less guarded.
She presses a lazy kiss against your shoulder before tilting her head up to find your face.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Another kiss.
This one lands at the corner of your mouth, lingering just long enough to make you laugh quietly.
“What?”
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss everywhere except my lips first.”
Alex hums thoughtfully, pretending to consider it.
“I’m building suspense.”
You roll your eyes with a smile.
“For a kiss?”
“For an excellent kiss.”
“Oh, naturally.”
She finally closes the tiny gap between you, kissing you properly this time, slow and familiar and unhurried.
When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours.
"I like mornings with you," she murmurs.
The words should settle warmly inside your chest.
Instead, they make something ache.
Because you like mornings with her too. You always have. But this is the first time since you can remember that Alex chose to stay in with you, rather than immediately leave her side cold.
You close your eyes for a moment, gathering courage that suddenly feels much harder to find in daylight.
“Alex?”
“Mhm?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
She opens one eye dramatically.
“That sounds dangerous.”
Normally, you would’ve laughed.
Instead, you take a slow breath.
"I think..." Your fingers twist slightly in the fabric of the blanket. "I think maybe we should see someone."
Alex blinks.
“What do you mean?”
“A marriage counsellor.”
The change is almost imperceptible. Her body doesn’t pull away, but it stills. Completely. For a few long seconds, she simply looks at you.
Then she exhales through her nose.
“...Why?”
"I just..." You search for words that won't sound like blame. "I think we've been trying really hard on our own, and maybe having someone objective could help us communicate better."
Alex sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard.
"I don't think therapy fixes relationships."
You remain quiet.
"I think," she continues, rubbing a hand across her face, "people go to therapy because they want someone else to tell them they're right."
"That's not what I want."
"No?"
She gives a small, humourless laugh.
"They ask a bunch of questions, you talk in circles for an hour, and then they tell you to use 'I feel' statements and charge you two hundred dollars."
There's an edge to her voice now. It’s not loud, but you definitely recognise the tone.
"You know how many couples I know who've done counselling?"
You shake your head.
"They're all divorced."
You swallow.
"I don't think that's because of the counselling."
"I just don't see the point."
You watch her as she speaks.
Her shoulders have lifted, her jaw’s tight. She isn’t angry; she’s defensive.
The certainty in her voice feels almost rehearsed, as though these opinions have been waiting for an opportunity to justify themselves.
Your gaze drops to the duvet pooled across your lap.
“Oh.”
It’s only one syllable, but it comes out smaller than you intended.
Alex notices immediately.
The room falls quiet.
You don’t argue.
And you certainly don’t try to convince her.
You simply nod once, staring down at your hands.
“Okay.”
The defeat in your voice hangs between you. Alex’s expression changes almost immediately.
The tension leaves her shoulders as quickly as it arrived.
“...Hey.”
You don’t look up.
She reaches for your hand.
When you don’t pull away, she threads her fingers through yours.
“I’m sorry.”
You finally meet her eyes.
The defensiveness is gone.
In its place is something much more vulnerable.
“I…” she sighs, shaking her head at herself. “I think I panicked.”
A faint, self-conscious smile appears.
“I heard ‘marriage counsellor ’, and my brain translated it into ‘our marriage is failing.’”
“It isn’t,” you say quickly.
“I know.”
She squeezes your hand.
“Or… I know you weren’t saying that.”
She looks down for a moment before meeting your gaze again.
"If this is something you think we need..." she says carefully, "...then I'll go."
"Alex..."
"No."
She gives your hand another squeeze.
"I'm serious."
There's no resignation in her voice now.
"I don't have to believe it'll help."
A small smile tugs gently at one corner of her mouth.
"But I do believe in us."
Your throat tightens.
"So if sitting in an office once a week helps us understand each other better..."
She shrugs lightly.
"...then I'll do it."
She leans towards you, resting her forehead against yours once more.
"I'll do a lot of things for this marriage."
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I just don't ever want you to think I'm not willing to fight for it."
For a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Then you lift your free hand to her cheek, your thumb brushing gently across her skin.
"Thank you."
Alex smiles, this one tired but genuine.
"Just promise me one thing."
"What?"
"If the therapist tells me I have to start using phrases like 'holding space,'" she says with the faintest hint of a grin, "you're buying me dessert afterwards."
A surprised laugh escapes you.
The heaviness doesn't disappear.
But for the first time since the conversation began, it feels like something you're carrying together.
The next week passes in a blur.
Not the kind of blur that comes from peace or routine, but the kind that happens when every hour already belongs to someone else before the day even begins.
Alex’s re-election campaign consumes everything.
The mansion, once quiet enough that you could hear the floors creak beneath your footsteps, becomes a constant stream of movement.
Assistants come and go with folders tucked beneath their arms. Campaign managers take over the dining room table with laptops, schedules, and printed drafts of speeches. Marketing teams fill the living room, discussing branding, polling numbers, and public perception while cleaners work around them, trying to keep the house looking untouched despite the number of people constantly moving through it.
The entire place starts to feel less like a home and more like a campaign headquarters wearing the disguise of one.
Alex is everywhere.
She wakes up early for interviews, spends hours at meetings, attends community events, shakes hands, remembers names, smiles for cameras, and stays awake long after midnight approving messaging for the next day.
You’re there for most of it.
You attend the fundraisers, you stand beside her at events, you listen as campaign advisors explain what version of Alex the public responds to best.
You review speeches, you approve photos, you sit through conversations about what colours work better on camera and which words sound too aggressive in a statement.
It’s all important.
You know that.
You know how much this means to her. And you can see how hard she’s trying.
She still makes sure you eat when you forget. She still texts you when meetings run late. She still reaches for your hand beneath tables when cameras aren't watching.
But there’s a difference now. A small one.
The version of Alex the world sees is taking up more and more space.
The polished smile, the perfect answers, the carefully controlled reactions.
Sometimes you catch yourself looking at her across a crowded room and wondering if she even gets a chance to turn that version of herself off anymore.
And then there’s Casey.
You try not to look. You really do. But Casey has a way of making herself impossible to ignore.
At every event, she’s just herself. Laughing with people, making small jokes with staff, helping wherever she can.
She exists without needing the room to adjust around her.
And every time you see her, you remember how easy it felt to stand beside her in a grocery store aisle and not have to think about who you were supposed to be.
You hate that. Not Casey. You hate what the comparison reveals. Because you’re trying. You’re trying to choose your marriage. You’re trying to believe that love can be rebuilt if both people are willing to show up.
Alex is showing up, which makes it harder. It would be easier if she stopped caring, easier if she gave you another reason to walk away.
Instead, she keeps trying to hold everything together with both hands, even when her grip is slipping.
By the end of the week, everyone’s exhausted. Especially Alex.
The campaign has fallen behind on a major round of messaging before an upcoming debate, and the entire house feels the tension before she even says anything.
You know something is wrong the second she walks through the door.
Her heels hit the floor harder than usual.
Her expression is tight.
Her phone hasn't stopped buzzing since she stepped inside.
"How bad?" you ask carefully.
She drops her bag onto the kitchen island.
"Bad enough that everyone suddenly thinks deadlines are suggestions."
You watch her rub her temples.
"The team’s fixing it."
"They should have fixed it before it became a problem."
There’s an edge there. You recognise it.
The part of Alex that appears when she feels like things are slipping out of her control.
"I know you're stressed," you say gently.
Her eyes lift to yours.
"I don't need you to tell me I'm stressed."
The response is immediate.
You go quiet.
"I was just saying..."
"I know what you were doing."
Your eyebrows pull together.
"What does that mean?"
Alex exhales sharply, already frustrated.
"It means every time something gets difficult, you try to manage my emotions instead of actually listening."
The words sting because they’re unfair. Not completely false, but enough.
"I'm not trying to manage you."
“Really?”
Her laugh is quiet, but there’s no humour in it.
"Because it feels like lately everyone has an opinion about how I should be handling things."
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller.
"I was trying to help."
"I didn't ask you to."
There it is.
That familiar shift.
The one where the conversation stops being about what happened and becomes about winning.
You stare at her.
“Alex.”
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Her expression hardens.
“Doing what?”
"Turning this into something else."
"No, I'm telling you how I feel."
"No, you're telling me what I did wrong."
The silence that follows is sharp.
Alex looks away for a moment, jaw tightening.
"I don't have time for this tonight."
Your chest tightens.
"You don't have time for a conversation with your wife?"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me the villain because I'm under pressure."
The words land harder than she probably intends.
You step back slightly.
"I'm not making you anything."
"Then stop acting like I’m the only one who has problems."
The unfairness of it sits between you. Because you know you have problems, you know you’re part of this.
But you’re tired of feeling like every difficult conversation becomes something you have to carefully navigate while Alex decides whether you’re allowed to be upset.
"I asked you to go to counselling," you remind her quietly.
"And I agreed."
"After you told me it was pointless."
"Because I was scared."
"Then why does it feel like you're still fighting me?"
Alex goes still.
For a second, you think she might hear it. Really hear it.
But then the walls come back up.
"I’m not fighting you."
"You are."
"I am trying to keep our lives from falling apart."
"And I'm trying to tell you that I feel like I'm falling apart inside of it."
The words leave before you can stop them.
Alex stares at you.
The room goes completely silent.
For one brief moment, there’s something like hurt in her expression.
Then it disappears beneath control.
"You're being dramatic."
And that’s the moment something in you breaks.
The thing you have been trying not to name. The thing Casey made you feel in the absence of it.
Being heard.
Being allowed to exist without having to prove that your feelings were reasonable first.
Your hands curl at your sides.
Your voice shakes.
"You want to know why I feel like I can't breathe around you?"
Alex opens her mouth.
You don't let her answer.
"You want to know why I keep feeling like I'm disappearing?"
idk if any of you watch smosh but on the recent uno teams vid, emily reminds me of isa briones... also if all five of them get casted, smosh summer games would be INSANE
update on the baran fic: i've finally finalised the story outline. it's got 3 arcs: baran's pov, yn's pov, and a 3rd person pov with a total of 40 scenes :))))))
so... i took a lil break from writing and there's some change in plans. i'll be posting the whole of kanibalismo in ao3 once i'm satisfied with it...
there's a lot happening this month for me and i haven't found much time to write but i'm already working on another baran fic inspired by the movie the loved one and the song multo by cup of joe. it's gonna be a long one, possibly longer than the kanibalismo fic, idk when it'll come out honestly. i've planned like 35 scenes and i'll be playing around with povs just like the movie sooo yea....
happy pride!!!
oh and here's the description of the upcoming baran fic below :)
There's a report that says that believing in soulmates is a trap, not in the romantic aspect, but in the expectation that love is easy when fate deems that the people involved are meant to be. Hence, when conflict arises, the thought that ‘maybe we’re not meant to be together’ surfaces instead of becoming proactive in the relationship; the focus settles on finding ‘the one’ rather than actively trying to find ways to make the relationship better.
You and Baran are aware that love isn’t meant to be easy, nor that there’s only one person who’s supposed to be your other half. Maybe those are two of the reasons why you’ve lasted almost a decade, but will the two of you still find reasons to stay despite already filing for divorce?
(if anyone wants to be tagged when this fic comes out, just comment to this post)
PAG-IBIG AY KANIBALISMO | LOVE IS CONSUMING | PART ONE
WARNING: MATURE THEMES
fic playlist
synopsis: the act of loving someone is consuming. if you’re not careful with it, it will swallow you whole. and yet, you crave it, unable to resist its sweet, addictive nature.
pairing: baran al-hashimi x f!reader
tags: dead dove do not eat, angst, c*nn*b*lism, teeny tiny amount of fluff, light smut, toxic love, a little bit of gore, blood, a brief 3some moment, ooc baran but hey…, mc is also attracted to the opposite sex for story purposes
word count: 15.2k
the song's title translates to love is c*nn*b*lism in english. i really got carried away for with this and even made a playlist for it. the other half of this will most likely be out on tuesday.
i'd love to hear your thoughts abt this one so don't be shy to spam my inbox :)))))
Drinking is something you frowned upon; you always thought that it was an easy way to escape your feelings and emotions, problems, or a poor excuse to blow off some steam. Its flavour is atrocious too: bitter, and it lingers in your palate and hangs in the back of your throat. Some say that it’s an acquired taste, but then again, you’ve never agreed with those people. The avid drinkers that you’ve met are all brash and simple-minded; they were the ones to run away from complex situations, not realising that the outcomes of it are always rewarding and unique in their own way. It also clouds your judgement, paving the way for risky behaviours as well as lowering your sexual performance, and don’t forget about the hangover the next day. You’ve seen many atrocities caused by intoxicated individuals and have been on the receiving end of it; hence, your massive dislike of the beverage.
But despite all that, you’ve never strayed away from bars or nightclubs of sorts- call it some form of exposure therapy or a neurotic trend, always opting to order a plate of pub potatoes- if they have some– and a can of soda to accompany you while people watching. You never could avoid these places; it’s as if they called to you, or you’re always surrounded by people who always frequent bars, which more often than not, is the actual reason you’re here.
Rock Bottom is the name of the bar; it’s quite ironic, and oftentimes you’re left wondering how many people are at their rock bottom visiting this place and getting wasted themselves. It’s old-fashioned with its wooden counters and floorboards, rickety stools, and leather upholstery chairs in the booths. For a slightly run-down place like this, they have a good selection of liquor behind the bar, and the warm lights give off this comforting feeling alongside the easy-going bartender whom you could easily see yourself confiding in after a rough day. Most of the people here are regulars, so it’s easy to spot a new face in the crowd, and surprisingly, you and your friend are one of them, and the barman knows that the two of you only linger around for hours and chat like friends who haven’t seen each other in years.
Tonight, you’re dragged out here by your dear friend, Eman, who also shares the same sentiment as you- because he’s been concerned about your well-being after being assigned to write an article about a serial raper who’s been found dead with more stab wounds in his body than Julius Caesar and his penis cut off. You suddenly went m.i.a for a couple of days after interviewing a few of his victims: all women around your age, and Eman had come knocking on your door earlier this Friday night and practically begged you to go out with him. He has a lithe yet muscular figure, slightly hollowed-out cheeks, an impeccable jawline, and enchanting green irises that are so attractive that people are scared to approach him and ask him out.
Well, maybe it’s because they think that you two are together since the two of you look inseparable, and the way he’s leaning in to you whilst having a conversation feels intimate to the onlookers’ eyes. The people would be correct if they assumed that something had gone on between the two of you since you were a thing for a good while and certainly had a few unforgettable escapades with each other until you mutually agreed to stay as friends.
Eman cheekily smiles as he takes one of your potatoes and throws it in his mouth as he sees another pair of women stare at him from behind your back; he sends them a wink before returning his attention to you. As Eman would say, you look like the personification of both heaven and hell based on your looks and personality. Heaven because of your kindhearted nature, and always having a hard time saying no to other people, and hell for your stoic expression that’s incredibly difficult to read after a rough day, and that certain glint in your eyes that only he has seen.
“I would’ve gutted that guy out like a fish,” he says, about the man in your news story. He’s always been the one to have no remorse between the two of you- always cracking out dark jokes like it’s what he does for a living. It must be one of the side effects of working at a hospital’s morgue, turning gruesome things into humour so it doesn’t eat your psyche alive.
You take your time to watch the smirk grow in his face while he’s chewing, he’s waiting for your reply, and he stays silent after swallowing. He knows that you don’t tend to take these jokes lightly, especially when the victims are still out there suffering, but he also knows that you tolerate it when criminals have done despicably heinous acts that they don’t deserve to have an ounce of humanity shed upon them when all they’ve been is a monster during their lifetime.
Amused, you raise your brows at him, “and leave a mess for the police to clean up?-”
“--since when were you an advocate in making police’s lives easier?” his jab earns him a deadpan stare from you, which he ignores and grabs another potato from your plate.
“I’m just saying, that’s what he deserves,” you watch as he tosses the cube up into his mouth. It’s subtle, but he begrudgingly chews it as he keeps his sight on you, seemingly forgetting about the girls a few booths away, of which you’re still clueless about. You sigh as you decide not to press on the topic further before it devolves into a conversation that would send weird looks towards your table.
The last piece of the pub potato stares back mockingly at you before you take it, watching Eman as he stares directly in your eyes, trying to gauge your mood for the night. He usually could read whatever is going on in that brain of yours, but he’s stumped tonight, despite knowing you like the back of his hand. Your gaze is empty and cold- colder than they are usually when you’re exposed to cases like this, and it makes him think that you need more than these potatoes to at least liven up your mood, even just for a short while.
“What’s wrong?” There’s no teasing lilt to his voice; he keeps it firm, stable, just in case you need to lean against him if you’re starting to unravel.
You look away from him, watching Dylan, the bartender, fixing up drinks from behind the bar, and a group of office workers leaving their coats behind to play some pool and make bets. They all look okay- content, like they’re capable of leaving their problems behind and not letting it interfere with their hours after work- except for Dylan, of course– but he does seem quite well put together. Then, your eyes lock with a dark-eyed woman, whose stare is dreamy yet calculating, observing all your features and mannerisms from a few tables away. You immediately break the brief eye contact to instead look at a drunken man in the corner of the room, and you silently hope that Eman didn’t catch on with that momentary glance.
“One of the girls had their index finger bitten off,” you start without looking back at him, but you can feel his eyes on you. “He carried it around like some kind of lucky charm in his car keys,” you finally look back at Eman, his soft gaze a contrast to the storm swirling in your irises.
“He’s a sick fuck that didn’t like it when they put up a fight prolly ‘cause it reminded him that he’s a monster forcing himself on to others,” Eman isn’t far with his assumption, and frankly, he’s correct. The statements of the victims all had a common ground: the man quickly scurried off after, as if he was terrified of what he had done upon realising it. But that wasn’t enough for him to stop his actions; he kept going until he was cornered by three of his victims, who decided that justice is better served with a hunting knife than letting him spend his entire life behind bars.
Once Eman saw the clouds of contrition dissipate from your eyes, he immediately knew where your mind had gone. You never did know how to put your emotions out into words, despite being a journalist; it’s one of your weaknesses and sometimes a strength when put into certain situations. You aren’t interested in entertaining your feelings and emotions either, thinking that they’re merely distractions in your line of work, where objectivity is of the utmost importance. Yet, your co-workers would argue that you’re the most empathetic person they know, which is why they often drag you into working with victims of unspeakable crimes, regardless of whether you’re working on that case or not.
You give Eman a look closely resembling a non-verbal thank you, and he lets his lips curve up into a small smile in return. Approximately an hour later, the two of you never broached the subject about your respective works again, and he bought you another plate of pub potatoes and a can of your favourite soda to make up for finishing your first one.
"Look, see those two women over there?" he points out behind you, and you see two blonde women whispering and giggling to each other while occasionally looking back at your table. Relief suddenly washes over you when you don’t see the woman from earlier anywhere near your field of vision.
You look back at him, confused, "what?" he gives you a look, one that you decipher instantly as you see the familiar gleam of mischief mixed in with persuasion in his eyes, and it causes you to sigh at his antics.
"What?" he echoes with a defensive tone.
"No," you utter only one word, and he stops. It only takes him a second to reflect on his prior suggestion and quickly understands why you declined him; it's a foolish suggestion after all, and one that would backfire immediately.
He rapidly drifts his focus back to you from the women a few metres away when you started to gather the plate and cans, eyeing your gentle movements before speaking up: "Leaving so soon?"
You shake your head no, "gonna get another round of diabetes in a can, want one?" he too shakes his head.
"I'm gonna head out now. It's late," you eye him to check for any hints of his shenanigans: his green eyes are calm, his lips are sitting straight, and his fingers don't twitch from excitement. He's all clear, and you raise your eyebrows in slight amusement.
"I'll see you whenever, I guess," you bid him farewell while walking away with the plate and empty cans.
An amused smile plays on Eman's lips. "I’ll miss you too!” you couldn’t fight the smile trying to break out as you reached the bar, sitting down on the stool with practised ease.
Dylan notices you immediately and sidles up to you after giving a man his beer, "another one?" you nod.
You place a 20-dollar bill on the countertop, but he shakes his head. "It's on the house. You look like you need it," you shoot him a quick 'thanks' before he goes to serve another customer. You aren’t sure if you should be flattered because of the free soda or be offended since it's implied that you look more tired than usual.
Your fingers start to fiddle with the plastic straw that Dylan had put in the can, and your mind drifts away on how you and Eman first met while watching the straw slowly float back up every time you push down on it. That day was most likely the worst day you've ever experienced during the long 27 years of your life, with your birth being the close second- you’d give anything to forget that particular day, but trauma unfortunately, prevents it like a cruel joke; you could still remember every single detail that happened like it was just yesterday: the kettle wasn’t on the burner, the TV was turned off, everything was disturbingly silent when it-
“You don’t drink alcohol?” a voice rips you away from your thoughts, and you’re grateful for whoever this person is because you don’t know how the night would end if you’d got in your head. You turn your head to look at the owner of the voice- it’s the woman from earlier, and my god is she pretty up close: her messy dark curls are tied up in a ponytail- a testament to her busy day, she’s wearing a tank top, and you can see her toned arms flexing slightly with her elbows placed on the counter, and her eyes… those dark irises could start and end wars if she wanted to, they’re gentle, yet they’ve already deduced who you are based on your looks and movements from when she was watching you across the room.
A small gasp erupts from your lips as you didn’t initially register how close she is to your proximity; you can smell the hints of her perfume that she sprayed on before she started her day: it’s deep, a woody yet floral scent, with a tinge of sweetness, and the musk of her sweat breaks through, making the primal desire of need burn in your veins. There’s no doubt that she heard the sound you made as an amused smirk dances around her kissable lips.
You look back down at your soda, feeling the heat surge in your cheeks, and it spreads throughout your body. Watching a droplet of condensation slowly trickle down and merge with other tiny droplets, it eventually drips down fully, creating a ring around the paper coaster. A hand swoops in, its tendons flexing as three fingers gently grip the aluminium ring, and you catch sight of her clean, stubby fingernails that are cut neatly to the edge of her nail bed- you can tell she uses her hands a lot in her work. She slowly slides the can towards her, and you follow the action with your eyes. She carefully wraps her lips around the straw and takes a long sip while connecting her gaze with yours, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinks. Your breath stutters, and your eyes flit down to her throat, watching her Adam’s apple bob up and down. You aren’t aware of how your breathing has turned slightly laboured, so you stick your tongue out to wet your drying lips, and her dark irises drift down to see the muscle briefly before thoroughly observing the colour and plumpness of your lips.
The stranger pushes the can back towards you, and the motion snaps you out of your stupor, causing you to blink and take a deep breath. But her intense gaze on you never falters, taking in your suddenly shy demeanour in place of your usual quiet confidence. You don’t look back at her, afraid of how your knees might become weak once you see her predatory stare at you; you can already feel its intensity, and you can picture her once soft irises now turn harsh with hunger written all over them. She taps her fingers against the wooden counter two times before retrieving them as she steps back. You feel relieved, but only for a millisecond, as she leans close to your ear, you can feel her warm breath graze your skin.
“Follow me.”
The air surrounding you suddenly feels cold as you watch her figure retreat into the small hallway to the bathrooms. It takes you a second to fully comprehend what’s happening, and you can feel your heart start to quicken its pace with anticipation. You quickly down the rest of your soda for a boost of confidence before following the beautiful stranger to the bathrooms. You’ve never done this before: willingly going after someone whose name you don’t even know, and letting her take your reins of control. Usually, you’d let this thing play out, let them kiss you and grope you all they want, making them think that they’ve got you for the rest of the night, until you leave them hanging, watching as you leave with Eman’s arm draped over your shoulders as if nothing had happened. But there’s something in her gaze that makes you want to be manipulated by her; she can destroy you and rebuild you anew to her liking, and you would happily let her. It’s like she can see through you and recognise all your flaws, and become the medicine that could mend you.
Everything sounds like they’re underwater as you trudge through a small group of tipsy people; your senses are heightened, but all you can focus on is the mysterious woman waiting for you. You can hear the faint sound of a man laughing behind you when you turn the corner- there she is. Leaning against the wall with her hands inside the pockets of her comfortable pants, like the ones your friend wears for work, only in a different colour; she, too, must work at a hospital. Her gaze immediately finds yours, the hunger in her stare is so apparent that it makes you swallow nothing, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. You’ve seen that look before; you should be afraid, you should leave, you should listen to the sirens going off in your head, but you don’t. The desire to be touched by her, to be healed by her, overpowers the rationality in your mind, and you take the steps closer to her until you’re right in front of her. She isn’t much taller than you, yet you can feel her control radiating from her, and you’ve already given in to her without having her hands on you, and she’s completely aware of it. She revels in your complete surrender, watching as your eyes have become hazy, waiting for her to make her move.
She carefully takes her index finger and gently tilts your head up by your chin, her soft touch ignites the fire burning deep in your belly, and you feel your nerve endings start to tingle. The sight of you looking through your lashes causes her own heart to beat faster, and she isn’t able to restrain herself any more as she finally leans down and crashes her lips to yours. The kiss starts slow, your mouth feels pillowy soft against hers, and she savours the taste of your lips. She swipes her tongue along the underside of your lower lip, and the sensation of the wet muscle makes you gasp. Like a switch that’s suddenly flicked, her demeanour changes as she takes advantage of your surprise and shoves her tongue inside your mouth. A soft moan escapes your throat when her tongue collides harshly against yours. Her hand comes up and holds your jaw open for you to take the assault on your mouth. Her other hand finds your waist and grips it harshly, enough for it to bruise, forcing you to move, and she slams your back against the wall. The breath gets knocked out of your lungs, and she nudges your legs open, fingers immediately flying to the button of your pants. Once she unzips your zip, and you can feel the tips of her fingers playing with the hem of your underwear, your mind clears a little, stopping her wrist that’s in between your bodies.
You manage to pull away from her kiss, “not here. Your place, please.” your broken whisper also breaks her out of her lust-filled haze, your hot breath mingling with hers as you both recover from the intensity of the kiss. She nods in agreement to your plea. You feel her curls brush against your cheeks when she looks down to button your pants before taking your hand and pulling you with her, making you stumble as you forget how your legs worked for a second before going along with her. No one bats an eye at the two of you; only Dylan spots you two, and a knowing smile breaks out on his face while serving a customer.
Everything felt like a blur, yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret anything that had happened last night. The bed feels warm around you as it engulfs your naked figure; you also notice that the sheets are slightly damp, most likely from sweat since last night’s activities literally kept you both up until dawn. The sunlight that bled through the gaps of the curtains is the culprit that woke you up. You groan as it temporarily blinds you, turning your body so it lands on the pillows instead of directly on your face. It is then that you notice the woman from last night right beside you, with her smooth back turned towards you, her dark curls are splayed out on the pillows, her breathing slow and deep, still governed by sleep. You should feel ashamed because you let this woman consume you without even knowing her name, but something in the depths of your mind tells you that this is precisely where you want to be. You let your eyes rest for five more minutes before eventually getting up, being careful not to wake up the beautiful stranger beside you.
You threw on her baggy Stanford sweater that’s hanging over the back of a chair near a desk since you didn’t see any of your clothing on the floor. Her apartment is spacious, but you didn’t get to see it properly last night, as you only got acquainted with her couch and her bed. As you expected, both yours and her clothing are strewn around the living room, and you even stopped halfway into a step, almost stepping on your shredded underwear near the coffee table, before deciding to gather all the clothing and throw it in a semi-neat heap on the couch, and place your purse that was all the way near the front door, on the coffee table. Only then do you notice the diplomas hanging on her walls. The writing on top reads: ‘Stanford School of Medicine’ and underneath:
Baran Al-Hashimi
“Baran…” you whisper to yourself, and her name rolls off your tongue nicely. So she is a doctor; your hunch was correct last night.
Not knowing what else to do, you decide to snoop in her kitchen, finding her fridge stocked with various meats, fruits, vegetables, and some leftover protein shakes. Her cupboard is also filled to the brim with spices, each properly labelled and organised just like the rest of her home. You hum, choosing to whip up a simple scrambled eggs for you and Baran, so she doesn't have to worry about breakfast when she wakes up. You certainly hope that she’s okay with you messing around in her kitchen, or else it’s going to be an awkward meal to start the day.
You don’t notice the sounds of her incoming footsteps until you feel her arms wrap around your waist, and she places a lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder, right next to a red mark of her own doing. You can feel your stomach do a backflip, and a smile teases the corners of your lips.
“Good morning,” you greet her and place your empty hand on top of hers, while the other turns off the heat and places the eggs on a nearby plate.
“G’morng,” her voice is muffled as she murmurs against the skin connecting your neck to your shoulders. She finally lifts her head a few seconds later, placing a quick peck right on the red mark on your shoulder before scooting to stand right next to you.
Baran looks angelic in the late morning; her hair is unkempt yet very appealing, her skin is glowing, her lips are still a little bit swollen from last night, and the hunger in her eyes from the bar is long gone, replaced by one of warmth and appreciation as she stares at you.
“I never got your name last night,” she states while grabbing a fork from a nearby drawer and helping herself with the still steaming hot eggs. You look at Baran briefly before saying your name.
The two of you settle on a small, rounded dining table, just enough to seat at least three people. You aren’t sure which side of Baran you prefer more: her commanding behaviour from last night was certainly thrilling, but this unplanned domesticity of hers tugs at your heart’s strings; it’s something you’ve always wanted to experience with other people since you’ve lived alone most of your life. It’s quite surprising how there’s a stark difference within her; it stirs your curiosity alive as to why she’s even controlling in the first place, and that’s something you’d be willing to figure out even if it takes months or years for her to open up to you. You find yourself unconsciously smiling while talking to her; your mind feels more at peace than it usually is, even more than when you’re with Eman. The sensation is strange; you should be on guard, but all you feel is comfort, and… safety. Her glow is definitely rubbing off on you.
As far as normal conversations go, the topic lands on your current work as the two of you start to get to know each other after exploring your bodies first. You lean back comfortably on the chair as Baran gets the last piece of apple, waiting patiently for you to reveal more about yourself as she chews with a visible smile on her lips.
“I’m an investigative journalist at CIR… Centre for Investigative Reporting,” you can see her eyes drift down to your mouth briefly, and you choose to ignore it, thinking that it’s a reflex rather than an obvious display of her distraction.
Her eyes widen like a kid opening presents during Christmas. “Really?”
You shrug, “I’m still a baby compared to my co-workers. I still have a lot to learn,” and you won’t forget it because how can you when you’re literally getting yelled at almost every day by your superiors? Thankfully, you have a thick skin, or you’ll be behind the steering wheel, crying before heading home.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of investigative reporting do you do?” her gaze lingers on each of your features, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks.
“They have me on crimes right now.”
“What kind?” the sound of your sigh makes her stare flicker back to your eyes.
“I interviewed three of his victims… Michael Davis…” you sigh once again, turning your head to the side to look at the sunlight spilling into her living room.
“You?” Baran looks at you, confused. “What do you do for work?” Baran takes your sudden coldness as a defence mechanism, avoiding the topic so you don’t open the box of feelings you’ve kept locked and hidden at the depths of your mind.
“I’m a doctor,” you can see the concern reflected in her eyes, but she still entertains your question.
“What kind?”
“I’m planning to specialise in emergency medicine,” you hum, and she keeps her eyes on you, following your movements as you stand up and round the table to sit on her lap, your legs dangling on the side of the chair as she instinctively wraps an arm around your waist.
“What?” she notices the way you’re staring at her, eyelids a little bit hooded as you take in the sharp curve of her nose while gently tracing the outlines of her lips with your fingertips.
“You’d look hot saving someone’s life,” you whisper, and she laughs at your words. You stop the movement of your finger, settling your hand to cup her jaw. Time seems to stand still as you lean in and press a kiss right on top of the left lobe of her head. You feel her momentarily stiffen underneath you before she relaxes into your arms.
“I need to go,” you whisper into her hair, causing goosebumps to erupt in her arms and her spine to tingle due to the vibrations of your voice.
That was the only moment of domesticity that Baran had shown you these past two months, and sometimes you feel like you’re her sex toy, playing around with you to relieve some pent-up stress and toss you aside after she’s had her fill of you. She’d call or text you to come over after stressful shifts and fuck you until your brain turns into mush on nearly every surface in her apartment, depending on her mood, and the next day, when you wake up, she’s gone. You’ve tried ignoring her, but you can’t stay away from Baran for too long. You simply can't. Her touch is so addicting, and it makes your body burn with the sweetest pleasure you’ve ever felt. You’ve tried to self-regulate by yourself, finding healthy ways to cope and trying to, but nothing could ever beat the feeling of Baran’s hands roaming around your body. There have been times when you’ve noticed a crack in her facade, and it usually happens when somebody else takes a visible interest in you. You’d see her eye twitch, and her grip on her drink would tighten. It makes you think that she’d maybe finally make a move on you, but it never happens.
After telling all of this to Eman because the two of you made a small pact to never keep secrets from each other, he had the great idea of taking you to the club to distract you for a while, for you to focus your energy on him instead of her. Admittedly, you do have a strange relationship with him, as you have done everything together ever since you two first met when you were 17. He would often describe you two as the two sides of the same coin, different yet similar, and inseparable, like one can not exist without the other. There is no more line to be crossed between the two of you, as your boundaries have already merged long ago; there’s no hiding from one another. So when times like this come along, the two of you have no qualms or issues about blurring the thin line between friendship and romance.
His hands are already familiar with the curves of your body, as he had already learned it a long time ago. He knows exactly where the dips of your waist are after having explored it in the dark more times than you can count. You let your arms hang around his shoulders, occasionally letting your fingers run over the back of his neck while his hands dance around the waistband of your jeans, and he palms your ass before grabbing them roughly, causing you to let out an involuntary gasp. As you look up to see his bewitching eyes, you can tell that he’s staring directly at someone from across the room, as if challenging them to join you two. A knowing smile appears on your face, and you tilt your head up to try whispering in his ear.
“Who is it?” he pulls you closer to him, his eyes still on the person.
“A man, late 20s, I think. He’s very fit… and cute,” you giggle as you place your head against his chest, playfully nipping at the base of his neck.
“I wanna see him,” you immediately spot the man as soon as you turn around. He’s tall, around six feet- maybe more. You can already tell that he has a muscular build from his shirt; he definitely chose that to get laid tonight. He has a stubble, and his hair is a little messy from running his hand through it several times because of his nerves. You lock eyes with him, and you can already tell that he’s excited about how his night is going to turn out.
You hum in approval before tilting your head towards the doors of the club, signalling for him to follow you and Eman.
“Come on, let’s not keep him waiting.”
Not drinking any alcohol has its own benefits: one, you don’t wake up with a hangover that makes you swear to never consume any alcohol ever again; two, you’re completely aware of the choices you made of the night prior; and three, you know the exact reasons why you’re in your current situation. So, you’re not surprised that you woke up with your body well-spent, aching, covered in love bites and bruises from tightly gripping your skin, and with Baran’s arm slung over your torso, keeping your figure close to her even when she’s asleep.
To your surprise, at around 03:06 last night, she was waiting for you and Eman to come out of the motel at the car park. She patiently waited for roughly four hours outside in her car until you came stumbling out of the room with your hair dishevelled and slightly damp, and your clothes hastily put on because she had called your phone asking for you. You don’t know how she knew you were in that motel- you aren’t even sure if you want to know how, but all you knew was that she was extremely pissed, and she had grown tired of waiting for you. She had no trouble reminding you of your place and who you belonged to once you had reached her apartment. She was ‘punishing’ you, but all you could think of was how hot she looked while angry and jealous. You had the hunch that Baran was possessive, as she liked to mark you as hers and kept reminding you of it, but you’d never thought that it was to this extent. You’d definitely try deliberately to make her jealous if this is how it ends up all the time.
You can hear her groan beside you when you shift to face her. It never fails to surprise you how alluring Baran looks in the mornings- well, afternoons. You never get tired of observing the creases in her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, her long eyelashes, the faint discolouration of her eye bags that you find oh so endearing, her nose that you always poke when you have the chance to, and her lips - god you’re addicted to her soft lips, every time she kisses you it feels like you’re finally alive for the first time, and it makes you want to thank every god that’s out there for letting you have the chance to experience kissing her.
“Sleep,” she mumbles with her eyes still closed.
“I can feel you staring.” There’s a love-drunken smile present on your lips, and it makes Baran smile too when she half-opens her eyes. You stay silent, opting to nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck before letting sleep overtake you once again.
You let out a sigh of relief when you feel the hot water cascade down your body. You have your eyes closed as you run your hand over your hair to wet it properly, getting rid of the tangles as your fingers go through your locks. When you open your eyes, you can see the blood that has dried on your skin, sticky and congealed, easily getting carried away by the water. You watch as the essence of life flows down your legs and turns into ribbons, swirling around the drain, before disappearing into the darkness.
Running your hands over your body, your skin is already spotless, not a speck of blood in sight, until you see the dark crimson stuck underneath your nails. You put your finger in your mouth, licking and sucking the remnants away, tasting the faint tang of iron on your tongue. You turn your body towards the bathroom door that’s left open, swapping the digit in your mouth for another as you watch him still feasting on the body.
His luscious hair is stained red as it falls every so often down his face as he leans to take another mouthful of flesh. He looks up and stares at you; the precious liquid obscures his faint smile, and you can see the state of the body underneath him: most of the meat from his arms and legs is gone, and some parts of his ribs are exposed, only barely visible due to the blood that poured out. His bottom lip is gone, already being digested in the acids of your stomach alongside his fingers that were once playing with the slick in between your legs. His eyes are still open, but his life is already far gone, death holding his hand as it leads him to the afterlife; his blank eyes are staring back at you, his eyebrows are still slightly furrowed by the pleasure of you sucking his cock before getting his throat slit.
The sight reignites your carnal desire, and your saliva starts to drip down on the corners of your mouth. You bite down, feeling your bones crack with the pressure of your teeth, and the coppery taste of your own blood invades your taste buds. Closing your eyes, you savour the taste of your own flesh, using your molars as you grind the bone down until you can swallow it. You don't notice the presence behind you until you feel his erection press against your lower back, his hands land on the sides of your ribs, cupping your chest. You turn around, looking at his green eyes before offering your hand up to him, he takes your middle finger in his mouth and-
Suddenly, you jolt awake. Your chest is heaving up and down as you desperately expel the carbon dioxide that has built up in your lungs. It feels like someone is lying on top of your chest, and the comforter covering your bare body feels suffocating, causing you to throw it to the side.
You look down at your hands, and your fingers are still fully intact, but the nerves in your fingertips are tingling like you’ve forgotten they existed. There’s no dried blood underneath your fingernails either, and you’re suddenly aware of how parched your throat is. You try your best to anchor yourself back to reality: ‘you’re in Baran’s, you keep repeating in your mind like a mantra to help control your breathing, and your eyes drift around the room, seeing her Stanford sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair, your clothes scattered around various parts of the room, and the collection of medical books in the corner. Gently, you lie back down, chest still heavy. The horrific images keep flashing back when you close your eyes, and you hope that Baran is still here to provide you with her company to at least regain some of your sanity as you stare at the empty ceiling.
It has been a long week, and all you want is to lie in bed, eat ice cream, and watch the new season of your favourite show. The editors had assigned you multiple articles all at once, and gave you the end of the week as the deadline, so you were on the move and typing with each chance you got. It also didn’t help that Baran is most likely ignoring you or has already forgotten about you.
You texted her asking if she was okay after she admitted to having a particularly hard shift, and she still hasn’t replied to you. That was on Tuesday; it’s now Saturday, early evening. You already anticipated this from her; she has already done this several times before, but never this long. Usually, she’d call you a day later, telling you she was busy and would say that she’d make it up to you, and she would, giving you orgasms after orgasms, but now she’s radio silent.
It worries you a little: what if something had happened to her, but that’s highly unlikely. Your stomach twists at the thought that she’d finally get tired of you. Others might think that you’re an idiot for hoping on someone you’re engaging casual sex in, but you don’t really care what they think.
Everything in your apartment building looks normal, it’s quiet, none of your neighbours is having a screaming match with their partners, and your front door appears to be untouched until you slide your key in the lock to find it turns easily with little effort. For others, it usually means that someone has broken into their apartment, but that isn’t the case with you, and you already know what’s waiting for you on the other side of the door.
“This is why I need to change my locks,” you immediately state while closing your door and locking it behind you.
There, lying down comfortably on your couch, is Eman, flipping through the TV channels like it’s his job to find a decent enough station to keep him entertained for hours until he knocks himself out. His shirt isn’t even on; he tossed it on the other end of the couch along with his pants, acting like he’s in his own apartment. He turns his head and looks at you with the same unimpressed expression you have.
“I know how to pick locks,” he says as if it’s common knowledge.
“I’ll move and not tell you,” you start doing your little routine every time you come home. You take your shoes off and place them on the rack near the door, you hang your keys on the hook above the shoe rack, you unbutton your shirt and unbuckle your belt while walking towards your couch, and you place your bag on top of the coffee table right next to Eman’s leg, which you nudge for him to cross his legs one over the other.
“You won't be able to live without me,” he reasons, looking up at you with an innocent stare.
“Try me,” you counter, only for him to give you a small, pitiful-looking smile. “I’d rather not.”
The couch cushions bounce when you drop next to him. He gives you a judgmental stare when your knee touches his feet as you man spread while stretching your arms and neck, and he gets a good view of your bra as your shirt shifts to the side.
“Why are you here anyways?” he shrugs, his focus is fixated on the random advert on the TV.
“Figured you wanted some company,” once again, you give him an unimpressed look that he sees in his peripheral.
“I made some smoked brisket,” he points backwards to your dining table. You crane your head to look back and see an aluminium tray covered with foil.
You look back at Eman, wondering what the special occasion is for him to cook beef. “Did you get promoted or something?” Tucking your legs under you, he once again switches the channel.
“Kinda. The old man finally hired me as an embalmer for his morgue.” You adjust your leg to feel more comfortable.
“You quit the hospital?” After adjusting your position for the second time, you gave up and instead decided to lie down almost completely on top of him, and his hand that isn’t busy fiddling with the remote goes to rub up and down your back.
“Nope. Working two jobs now.”
“I thought you were doing fine?” briefly, you look up at him, seeing his messy hair start to get in the way of his eyes, and you instinctively reach up to move the hair out of his face.
“I am.”
“Then why are you working a double?” he visibly pauses, but still keeps his gaze on the rerun of a crime show.
“Y’know, I came here to tell you something, not to be interrogated,” you scoff at him, yet you don’t move but instead sink further into him to feel his warmth.
“Just talk already. Whaddya want?”
“It’s about your doctor booty call.”
“What?” you finally lift your head to look at him, and he looks back at you. The dialogue on the show becomes background noise as Eman tries to decipher the look you have: you only seem slightly unbothered, but he feels your heart beat pick up with your chest against his side.
“You do know that whatever you two have is unhealthy, right?”
“I noticed that you’re trying to be a better person. I’ve never seen you go out of your way to check up on me and other people you used to not give a fuck about, but now you are. And it’s been happening since you met that girl… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re into me again.”
You chortle, amused at his words, “yeah, sure. The only time I’ll be thinking of that is when I’m considering the tax benefits of marriage.”
It scares you a little bit just how Eman knows you. You’ve been by his side for 10 years now, and things are certainly not better than before when compared to the present. It was a miracle that you two graduated from college, and now, despite all your student loan debt, you’re living quite comfortably, which is something you never thought was possible. Even though you and he could’ve gone your separate ways, especially after you two decided to stay as friends, your life would feel empty without him.
“But seriously, I’ve never seen that girl, so I don’t know what’s gotten you all hung up over her, but it’s like you’re intentionally fixing yourself only to let her destroy you over and over again. And you keep letting her, why?”
He’s aware that you’re wary about relationships since you’re used to putting yourself first because you’ve never had the privilege to go after other people when you were barely surviving all by yourself. When you wanted to let go and crave the warmth of other people in your bed, you never had to look far because you took care of each other. So it surprised him when you told him that you were sleeping with somebody else, mostly because he knew that you only show your body to people you trust, not strangers.
“... I don’t know,” you confess. “I really don’t. But all I know is that she’s the only person that I’ve been having…” you pause with bated breath. “Second thoughts about.” You hear Eman say your name sympathetically while looking at you, and you stare off into the distance.
“Okay… just… promise me you won’t lose yourself because of her.”
You look back at him, seeing his soft gaze at you. “I promise.” The two of you lie down in silence for a minute before he breaks it.
“You starving?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s eat.”
You have ditched your button-up shirt and slacks for a comfier oversized shirt that you have most likely stolen from Eman, and opted to go bottomless with only your underwear on, copying your lovely friend. The two of you are eating the brisket in comfortable silence while watching the TV, completely invested in the drama between the main characters. Eman didn’t want to get his hands dirty and was too lazy to get up and grab himself a fork, so you’re also feeding him while he lets you lie down on top of him.
This is how you usually spend your weekends with each other when you’re not out at the Rock Bottom or dragged into a club by your colleagues to celebrate something. The two of you are highly aware that whatever you have is unusual or unconventional, as it doesn’t seem very friend-like, but you two can’t ignore the bond you have of each other. Occasionally, when Eman’s out visiting his family in other states, you feel sick both emotionally and physically, and it’s the same for him when you’re away due to your work. This bond is the reason why you started out as a couple, but it eventually fizzled out. It’s how you found out that you were only meant to be around each other but not together.
Eman has his arms wrapped around you when you go back to your previous spot after rinsing off the aluminium tray, his eyes barely open as he tries to fight sleep to keep watching the show. The way you’re stroking his hair isn’t helping him either, as the comforting feeling starts to lull him to sleep. You’re about to drift off as well as the clock has already hit past 11, and the exhaustion from the week is finally catching up to you. But the sudden ringing of your phone jumps you both awake making him grumble under his breath. You quickly say your apologies to him as you reach over to the coffee table for your phone. Your heart skips a beat when you finally see who’s calling you. Baran. Of course, who else would call you in the middle of the night except for her? Eman immediately notices the nerves that briefly appeared on your face when you looked at him as if you were asking him whether you should take the call or not. He nods.
You accept the call, “come over.” She ends the call immediately. You only give Eman an apologetic look before he once again lies back down on your couch and closes his eyes while you go to your bedroom to find yourself some pants. Even though Baran might pull away from you for reasons you don’t know, you’ll always come running to her when she requests you.
It’s quiet when you arrive at Baran’s apartment. The lights are dim, and her curtains are drawn open despite only seeing darkness outside. It’s strange. Most of the time, you don’t even make it to her living room because she’s already on you, yet as you step further into her home, it feels like there’s no one there. But as you get closer to the living room, you spot her familiar figure lying down on the couch.
“Baran?” you call out to her.
She’s looking up at the ceiling, the neckline of her loose-fitting shirt askew, exposing the skin of her shoulder, her right hand is dangling on the side, and her eyes are glassy with the remnants of tears still present around them. She only tilted her head to glance at you before she went back to staring into thin air. Your heart sinks at this sight; you’ve known Baran to be confident, an advocate to those who are failed by the system. You can’t stand seeing her like this, and you’re unsure if she wants to talk it out with you, afraid that you might cross the line and make her uncomfortable. You kneel on the floor, placing your bag down right next to you. Your fingers instinctively reach out to tuck the loose strand out of her face to the back of her ear. You let your fingertips linger on her skin before cupping her jaw and caressing her cheekbone using your thumb. She lets out a breath, her tired eyes locking with yours as she lifts her right hand to place above yours.
“Do you want to talk?” your voice is low, afraid that if you talk any louder, she’d scuttle away. She blinks at you, contemplating your question.
“Just… stay with me… please?” you can feel your chest tighten upon hearing her voice break. She grips your hand tighter, and she closes her eyes. She wants to feel your warmth, for you to be closer to her, so she can feel the blood pumping in your veins. Her eyes flutter open when you stand up.
“Let’s get you in your bed, okay?” She nods, letting you help her stand up.
Baran holds your hand during the short walk to her bedroom, and you let her lie down on her bed, tucking her in. She looks up at you with a puzzled expression as you do so, “I’ll clean up first, then I’ll stay with you, hm?” You lean down to press a soft kiss on her forehead. You can clearly see how disheartened she is through her eyes, they’re one of your favourite features on her, her dark brow eyes that can unravel you with just one look. But currently, they’re devoid of that fire that you’re always hypnotised by, and it makes you wonder exactly what had happened to her.
You had spotted the clutter on her coffee table and in her kitchen when you initially walked in. It reminded you of the times when you had gotten into your mind and couldn’t stop the haunting memories from replaying over and over again. Her white coat along with her bag, was just thrown onto the coffee table, there’s empty take-out bags and styrofoam containers scattered all over her countertop. Closing the curtains is the last chore on your list; you figured that it was an interesting order to do things, as it lets you finish it off properly.
When you return to her bedroom, you find that she’s still awake, with her sights on the door, waiting for you to come back. It feels endearing for her to patiently wait for you, and you feel a little bad about making her wait, even if it’s just for a short while. She immediately buries her face into the crook of your neck once you lie down next to her, inhaling your scent as she places her nose directly against your pulse. You wrap your arms around her, your hand immediately finding its way to her scalp, softly massaging it with your fingertips.
Baran lets out a small sigh, “you smell different. Were you with somebody else?” You can feel the vibrations of her voice against your skin.
“Mhm, my friend visited me earlier.” She hums when you massage a spot on the left side of her head.
“What’d you do?” she replies with her eyes closed, still taking her sweet time breathing you in.
“He got another job, and we ate the brisket he made. Then we watched some TV. It was some rerun of a show- I don’t know what it’s called.”
She pulls her head away from your neck, and you halt your movements on her scalp. Her eyes still look dull, yet some of that fire had already come back, one that you’re most familiar with. You let your hand drag down from her hair to her nape as she slowly leans in towards you. She pauses with your lips an inch away, her eyes staring at your mouth as if she’s contemplating whether you’ll let her kiss you. She tilts her head to the side, your noses brushing against each other briefly, and she pauses again.
Her dark irises flicker up to yours, “can I?” This is the very first time she asks you for verbal consent; she always assumes that you’re ok with it because you keep on encouraging her to do whatever she wants with you.
Baran’s eyes drift back down to your lips before letting them touch softly. You’ve missed the feeling of her lips against yours, soft and warm. You let your arms come up to hold her face, pulling her closer to you. She releases a satisfied sigh through her nose as she guides the two of you to lie down on your sides. You can feel the tip of her tongue touch the bottom of your lip, and you let her in; she takes the lead, guiding you gently as you slowly stroke her jawline.
You pull away, seeing her looking at you with gentle adoration, “we don’t have to do anything.” She carefully grips the wrist of your hand that’s still caressing her jaw.
“I want to… I want to feel all of you.”
Baran has a way with her hands. Perhaps it’s because she’s a doctor, and she knows how to use them in different ways, but you’ve never felt love from someone’s touch. Her hands delicately roamed around your body like you were made from porcelain, giving each part of you her full attention until you felt sensitive. Her tongue traced intricate patterns in your skin that had you curling your toes and whimpering out her name, whispering praises into your ears. She easily made you see stars despite taking her time with you, yet you could feel everything. Every little touch, the small differences in her thrusts, the heat of her body against yours, and her hidden affection for you. She doesn’t even realise that she’s starting to feel something for you, yet it already shows. If this is what it feels like to be loved by Baran Al-Hashimi, then you’d start to pray and start giving offerings to all the gods and wish for her to love you.
You and Baran are lying side by side with your backs against the bed. She’d raised your arm to the moonlight, inspecting the way your fingers move and the contrasts of the shadows against your skin. When you brought your hand down, you felt her move. She’s now lying on her side, head propped up on her hand as she anchors her elbow against her bed. You turn your head to the side to see her: she’s staring down at you with a faint smile on her face, her curls freely flowing down her shoulders, her dark, disarming eyes filled with her utmost devotion for you; it makes your heart stutter, and you fear that she might be able to hear your heartbeat with how close you are to each other.
The muscles of her neck connecting it to her shoulders catch your attention, your eyes linger on the mole on the side of her neck, feeling the urge to pepper the sharp line of her jaw with kisses until you start to nose its underneath, dragging your touch over to her chin, you start to imagine feeling her pulse beating rapidly against your lips, and you can feel your mouth start to salivate. Your breathing starts to get deeper, your eyes become hazy, and you unconsciously swallow. The sensation of your throat moving brings you back to reality, and you notice that Baran is still staring down at you. She finally moves, placing a soft, lingering kiss on your temple before whispering goodnight and wrapping her arms around your waist to keep you close to her.
In an unusual turn of events, Baran wakes up to see that you aren’t sleeping beside her. The sheets are already cold, devoid of your presence, yet your scent on her sheets lingers. She thought that she’d see you in the kitchen, humming to yourself while cooking breakfast, but no. You aren’t in her apartment any more. Her lips curve downwards into a frown, already missing your presence. When she steps into her kitchen, she sees a full array of breakfast waiting for her: a couple of pieces of toast alongside scrambled eggs, fruits cut into bite-sized pieces, and tea made in the way she likes it. She has already bitten into a toast before she notices the small note tucked beneath the plate. It reads: Sorry B but something urgent came up. I hope this breakfast can serve as my apology. I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t miss me too much! You signed it off with your nickname with a heart and a smiley face on the side. This small gesture made her heart swell, and she finds herself eating the breakfast you made with a constant grin on her face. Now, Baran’s suddenly anticipating your return back into her arms.
The clock had barely hit 11 o’clock when Baran heard the distinct knocking on her door, three knocks, just like you always do. She’s been lounging around after taking a shower, catching up on her charting, waiting for you to arrive. There’s a genuine smile plastered on Baran’s face when she opens the door, seeing you wear her college sweater. A sudden burst of possession fills her veins, feeling proud to see her clothing on your body.
“Hi,” you greet her happily, and she immediately pulls you inside her apartment by your waist, peppering kisses all over your face before finally placing one on your lips.
She can feel your smile in the kiss before she pulls away. “I missed you.” Baran places her forehead on your shoulder, causing you to giggle.
“I was only gone for a little bit.”
“Felt like forever,” she groans, and you let her sulk for a bit, knowing that she isn’t actually upset by you. She eventually led the two of you to her couch, closing her laptop since her charting can wait until later.
Baran has you perched on her lap with your pants already tossed away to the side, her hands slipping underneath her sweater to feel the warm skin of your waist while delicately shoving her tongue in your mouth. Hearing your soft moans spurs her on, encouraging you to rock your hips against her. You couldn’t help but let out a louder moan when your clothing starts to rub on your sensitive bundle of nerves, and it excites the doctor underneath you further. The sudden, sharp pain that erupts on your bottom lip makes you yelp in surprise. She sinks her teeth into your lip and pulls away, and you start to taste the savoury yet metallic liquid in your mouth.
Baran had bitten your lip hard enough to draw blood. It takes a while for you two to pull away from each other, but once you do, you can see the remnants of your crimson liquid spread around her lips, and some had started to dry at the corner of her mouth. She made a show of licking your blood off her lips, deliberately running her tongue along her mouth slowly, and she sees you watch her intently. Your eyes start to dilate, and you can smell the coppery hint beneath your nose, feeling the warm liquid from your lip drip down to your chin. Baran notices how you’ve gotten quiet, your breathing has visibly slowed, and your pupils have almost taken over the colour of your irises. A sudden rush of heat courses through her body as she realises you’ve entered a headspace of some kind. Your senses suddenly feel hyperreactive, instantly missing the warmth of her hand that was splayed across your waist, yet your head feels cloudy.
She takes her index finger and swipes at the still-warm blood on your chin. You watch as her finger stills in the air for a second before you grab her wrist and place her finger in your mouth. Baran starts to breathe through her mouth, her lips slightly agape as your tongue swirls around her finger, sucking the liquid off and tracing the creases of her digit, letting the muscle drag along the underside of her nail as you lock eyes with her. You release her finger with a pop, and there’s drool on the corners of your mouth, the back of your hand instantly wipes the saliva off, and you feel her hands slide back underneath the sweater to run her thumbs across your nipples.
Unable to control your impulses any more, you take Baran’s face in your hands and smash your lips together harshly. Your tongues and teeth clashing as you taste your own blood in her mouth, pulling away, you place wet kisses and gently nibble on her skin as you go down to her neck. Taking a deep inhale, you breathe her in, smelling the faint scent of her lotion mixed with her body wash as you put your nose against her pulse point. You start to trail kisses down her shoulder before briefly pausing, quickly swallowing your saliva before biting down on the flesh of her upper arm just beneath her joint. You barely hear her moan out in both pain and pleasure as the sounds around you feel muted. You manage to stop quickly, only making a shallow bite mark, pulling back, you trace your tongue around the ridges of the mark of your teeth on her skin, you muttered a quick apology, but you’re immediately shut up by Baran as she grabs your hair and tugs on it roughly causing for a moan to erupt out of your throat as she bares your throat to her, before she leans into your ear.
“You’re a fucking freak,” the sound of her deep voice made the pulsing in between your legs more noticeable, and you started to shift, feeling your wetness soak through your underwear and into the fabric of her shorts. She chuckles, hearing the small whimper you made as she tightened her grip on your hair before once again kissing you like she wants to eat you whole. She stares at your lust-blown pupils for a moment before she attacks your neck, biting and suckling harshly on the thin skin as she tugs on your hair harder like she’s enacting revenge after your little stunt. The dull pain that covers the span of your neck causes the slick in between your legs to start to drip, making the dark patch of wetness on Baran’s cotton shorts more prominent.
Her free hand palms your stomach, slowly inching down your underwear, fingers swiping against your dripping wet slit. “This all for me?” she questions you, yet she doesn’t let you answer. “Of course it is.” There’s a smug smile present on her lips, and you can feel your head spin at the sight of it.
Your phone immediately rings after you ride out your high as if it knew that you had just orgasmed. The incessant ringing makes you groan internally as Baran reaches for it on the coffee table. You thank her as she hands the device to you. Eman’s frantic voice immediately floods your ears, asking for your assistance. You mutter a quick ‘okay’ to him before ending the call. Baran lets out a breathy giggle when you nuzzle your face deeper into her neck and wrap your arms around her tightly.
“I don’t want to go, can you keep me here?” you whisper into her ear like a child not wanting to sleep.
“You’re free to see other people. I’m only asking for your company, not commitment.”
You and Eman had always thought that celebrating birthdays was a waste of time and money. But when things had become financially stable a few years ago, he had brought you your first-ever birthday cake; the two of you ate the whole cake in one sitting. It’s become a small tradition for you to bake him his favourite fudgy brownies, and you’d wait for him outside the hospital, sitting on the boot of your car with the freshly made brownies and ice cream next to you. He used to hate this because he felt like a little kid with his parents waiting for him outside his school, but he warmed up to the idea after his colleagues had confessed to him that they were jealous of him because he had a girl waiting for him outside with his favourite chocolate dessert.
Since it’s his birthday today, you’re parked near the exit of the hospital for him to immediately spot you when he clocks out. The sun is out, and the skies are clear this late summer afternoon, and you’re hanging around near the shade, already helping yourself with the brownies you made. You didn’t need to wait long as Eman exited the hospital a few minutes later. He’s ditched his scrub top and put on a loose-fitting shirt since he knows you’ll be waiting for him, and he didn’t want you to smell the formaldehyde in his scrubs. There’s a wide grin present in his features as soon as he sees you, and it grows wider upon seeing the fudgy dessert in your hand.
As soon as he reaches you, he immediately leans down to take a huge bite out of the brownie in your grasp. “Hey!” you complain, but he waves you off.
“I get a free pass ‘cause it’s my birthday,” he says with a smirk, making you roll your eyes at him.
“Still not a good reason to act like an asshole.” He shrugs, getting his own brownie from the Tupperware, while you give him his tub of ice cream along with a plastic spoon.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there’s a genuine glint in his eyes.
“Plenty of times, I’m pretty sure,” you say after taking a spoonful of ice cream. He sits down next to you, your legs touching.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
You look at him with teasing wonder,“ you getting all sappy on me now?”
“No. I’m just trying to appeal to your sympathy to get more brownies.” Once again, you roll your eyes at him.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“It got me to where I am now.” It took every ounce of your control not to smack the smirk off his face, and he laughs, seeing your restraint.
“Thank you for this, by the way,” he finally drops his teasing act.
“As much as I hate saying this, but I’m glad you’re around,” you avoid making eye contact with him as you distract yourself by eating. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you finally look back at him to see his green eyes already staring back at you.
You lean in to him, “happy birthday.” You whisper near his ear before placing a quick, appreciative peck on his cheek.
The sweet moment doesn’t last long as a familiar voice calls out your name. Looking towards the direction of the sound, you see Baran walking towards you and Eman. Despite the distance, the stone-cold glare present in her eyes makes your palms sweat and causes your heart to beat faster. You’ve seen that look in her irises before. During the night she fetched you from the motel. You can’t hide the fact that you’re very attracted to her when she’s angry, but there’s something swirling in her eyes that is akin to a murderous look; you can feel her anger even when she’s metres away, and it terrifies you.
But next to you, Eman’s perplexed, as seen by his furrowed brows and the slight tilt of his head. “Dr. Al?” hearing her shortened last name come out from his lips makes you freeze.
“You know her?”
“A little.”
Baran tries to reel in her anger so as not to make a scene when she nears the two of you. She saw how close the boy from the morgue had gotten to you, along with the stupid longing look in his eyes, and the way you kissed his cheek certainly did not help quell her rage. She takes a couple of deep breaths before stopping in front of you.
“Can I talk to you real quick?” she ignores Eman, staring directly at you instead.
“Oh uh, sure,” you and Eman lock eyes, before you drop from your seat at the boot, patting your outfit down so you at least look a bit presentable.
Before you could say anything else, Baran was already walking away from you, making you jog up so you could catch up to her. You’re still a bit mad and disappointed in yourself for hoping that she might have feelings for you too, but seeing her act like this puzzles you. She was the one to say that you’re free to see other people, so what is she upset about?
She leads you to her car, she stays silent, clenching her jaw while she opens her car door with excessive force and assumes the driver’s seat, tossing her bag to the back. You stand still, confused, not knowing what to do because you didn’t expect her to say nothing and just hop in her car. She quickly glances at you while turning her ignition, the engine roaring to life.
“Get in,”
“But-”
“I said. Get. In.”
Swallowing your nerves, you silently thank yourself that you left your keys inside your purse in your car so Eman could drive it home if you don’t come back. You almost trip over your own feet as you obediently follow her orders like a trained dog. The interior smells exactly like Baran, deep, with a small hint of sweetness and her signature musk. She doesn’t spare you another look as she pulls out from her parking spot, her dark irises entirely focused on the road ahead while you fidget nervously at the passenger’s seat.
The air is thick, filled to the brim with unspoken tension as Baran’s rage practically buzzed off her figure. Her grip on the steering wheel is tight, and her jaw has started to hurt from grinding her teeth. The car ride feels too short yet too long at the same time; you dread what is about to happen once you arrive at her place.
The loud bang of the apartment’s door as she slammed it shut made you flinch. She saw you jump at the noise, but didn’t care whether you were afraid of her or not. The image of you cosying up with a man and kissing his cheek is burned in her retina. She wanted to rip you away from him, to show him who you belonged to as she took you from behind for him to see how she could fuck you mindless without hearing any complaints from you. You are hers, no one else’s. Especially not morgue boy’s.
“Are you that desperate of a slut to be fucking around with that boy?” the tone of her voice startles you.
“He’s only a friend, Baran,” you calmly explain, following her to the kitchen.
“Really? You kissed him. Is that what friends do? Do friends fuck each other now, too?” your frustration starts to bubble up, yet you try not to let it show.
“On the cheek-”
She cuts you off, “so you didn’t fuck him in that disgusting motel?” Baran faces you, her sharp stare pierces through you as if she has seen everything you’ve done. You’re surprised by her gall, making your jaw drop in amusement.
“What the hell is this, Baran? This,” you gesture your finger back and forth towards you and her, “is just sex! You made that clear a few days ago!” She takes a step and backs you off to the fridge.
“You’re mine! How many times do I have to fuck you to make that clear in your head?!” Her hand flies up to your jaw, gripping it tightly, her fingers digging into the hollows of your cheeks. You can clearly see the fire burning in her eyes, looking down at you like you’re an object to own instead of a human being.
You take her wrist and harshly pull her hand away. “You fuck me and you tell me that this is not commitment, but you stop me from seeing anyone else!” She takes a step closer to you, leaning down as if she’s about to kiss you.
“Fine.” Her voice drops, and the eerie calmness of her tone causes the little hairs on your nape to contract.
Baran tilts her head to whisper in your ear, “I’ll let you play around with whoever you want. But don’t forget that you belong to me.”
With one last thrust of her hand, the pressure in your lower abdomen finally releases, your hips bucking up uncontrollably as Baran drags out your orgasm. You whine when you feel her fingers slowly slip out of you. Your eyes are struggling to stay open, becoming heavy after three back-to-back orgasms as Baran tests your limit.
“You can give me another one, right?” with your eyes closed, you still nod your head in response.
Baran smiles, “Good girl.”
Her fingers return to your sex, your hips instinctively pulling away from her due to overstimulation; she tsks, pinning your lower half down to the bed, she circles your clit before drifting down to tease your hole, causing it to involuntarily flutter.
“So greedy,” she whispers against your ear, pushing three of her digits back in your cunt. The pleasurable burn of the stretch causes a broken moan to erupt from your lips and a devilish grin to appear on her lips.
Baran drags her lips from your temple to your jaw, nibbling gently where she can feel the subtle yet quick thumping of your pulse. flattening her tongue against your skin, she licks a stripe from the base of your neck to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a whimper spills from your lips as she times it with a hard thrust. She breathes in your scent deeply before sinking her teeth on the spot where your shoulder connects with your neck, effectively drawing blood, ripping your flesh away as you stay still, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. She pulls away from you, seeing your blood staining her teeth, dripping down from her mouth to the length of her neck, watching the crimson droplets slide down the curves of her breasts.
Her eyes hold a look of pure hunger, the desire to eat you whole swirls in her bewitching dark irises. She leans back down, drinking and sucking blood directly from the gaping wound. You feel her tongue poke into the hole and tries to dig down to feel your bone, excruciating pain floods your nerves, the gut-wrenching scream you let out doesn’t deter Baran as she slides down your body, removing her fingers from your cunt, head descending directly above your heart. You grip her hair tightly in your hands, her teeth sinking into the fat at the side of your breast. her fingers that were previously deep inside your cunt hooks against the broken skin, your slick still dripping down her hand. You can feel her nails scratch against your ribs, trying to reach your heart to feel it beating in her palms.
She comes up, the lower parts of her face completely drenched in blood, and she kisses you with hunger-filled fervour, clashing her tongue to yours, forcing you to taste your own blood and flesh as she leans her body weight onto the hand that’s trying to pry your ribs open. You feel your ribs crack, screaming into Baran’s ravenous mouth as she explores the insides of your chest cavity, caressing you in places that should never be touched.
Your scream wakes you from your sleep, taking a tumble off the bed, the dull pain that erupts on the side that you landed on knocks the lingering sleep off you. You’re drenched in your own sweat, your chest feels tight as the phantom pain from your nightmare makes you panic, causing your hands to fly to the areas that Baran had feasted on you.
A long, exhausted sigh escapes your lips as you try to grasp reality. Everything had felt real- too real. From her fingers buried in your cunt to her trying to claw your heart and lungs out, and you feel too exposed, like your whole body was splayed out for her to study anatomy on. These dreams- nightmares have been too vivid, and it all consists of Baran.
She doesn’t come across your mind too often during your waking moments, but when you finally close your eyes, it’s a different story. It’s during times like this that you fully realise how much you truly desire her, to the point where you’re letting her consume you whole just to sate her hunger for you, even though she’s fucking with your head, giving mixed signals. You love Baran with your whole being, flesh, blood, bones- everything. It doesn’t bother you to have these dreams when all it represents is your willingness to give your life for her. It’s the truth, your love, in its rawest, visceral form; you won’t run away from it nor turn a blind eye to it because if you do so, you’ll only be lying to yourself, hiding from your true nature.
His lips feel different compared to what you’re used to; the angles of his face are much sharper, and his jawline is more defined. His hands are a little bit rough, and they spread wider on your back, almost reaching both ends of your torso. But her hands are softer, touch precise and controlled, her palms feel warmer when they touch your bare skin. You feel breathless every time she’s kissed you like she’s physically stealing your breath away, his just feels familiar, unchanging even after years later.
The heat that’s trapped in your body is becoming unbearable after days of seeing her in your sleep. You’re settling for what’s convenient for you to have a release, so you won’t be walking around with drenched underwear, reminiscing about her, but nothing will beat Baran’s presence. She’s naturally commanding, and it makes you want to kiss the ground she’s walking on as you’re always in awe at her; Eman’s the opposite, he’s gentle and will only do something if you requested for him to.
Usually, you hate clubs. They’re loud, it’s dark, yet sometimes the lights are blinding, and the strong scent of alcohol that’s stuck to other people makes your nose hurt. Overall, it’s an overstimulating experience, yet it’s your idea to drag Eman out and into one of the clubs in SoMa, far away from your apartments, especially the doctor’s who keeps starring in your dreams. You felt like you were starting to go insane without seeing her, and it’s a perfect distraction for the two of you to go out, even though you don’t drink; watching intoxicated people is already entertaining enough to watch.
The night had started out innocently, you and Eman telling stories of the absurd things that had happened in your week, until he led you to the dance floor. The crowded bodies had forced the two of you to get closer to each other, hands playfully dancing across your skin, slowly letting his fingers apply more pressure and linger longer, then it turns into unashamed groping. Eman noticed how tense your shoulders appeared from a distance away, so naturally, he does what he’s always been doing: trying to give you comfort and the opportunity to clear your mind, even for only a couple of hours.
Once you curl your fingers around his hair to pull him closer to you, an unsettling sensation flutters in your stomach, and you feel the temperature in the room start to change, like the thermostat has turned down a few degrees. You open your eyes, looking through the empty space between the sea of bodies. There, sitting down on a stool at the bar, is the woman torturing you in your dreams, her legs are crossed, leaning her elbow against the countertop and her gaze is directed at you. Watching you play around with Eman, seeing his hands wander down to your bottom, and giving them a teasing squeeze.
“You wanna leave?” he whispers in your ear when he pulls away. He doesn’t notice that your attention is laid elsewhere, busy placing wet, open kisses along your neck.
Baran locks eyes with you. She stays still, patiently waiting for your next move. Your stomach churns with unease; the blatant display of a cruel power move renders you unable to make a rational decision. You want to stay with Eman so that you can hang on to his stability, where your night wouldn’t end up in a whirlwind of emotional disasters. But everything in you is screaming to walk over to her.
“She’s here,” your voice comes out in a hush.
But Eman hears it. “What? Dr. Al?” He assumes that the answer is yes as he sees you looking over his shoulder, mentally debating with yourself on what to do.
“I won't stop you if you go to her,” he says with a genuine tone, even though he’s already warned you not to lose yourself over her.
It’s silly that you even considered not paying attention to Baran when you’re only going to listen to your desires. By the time you separate yourself from Eman, she’s already disappeared from the bar. You check the bathrooms first, but there are no signs of her there. If you were to make a guess, she’s most likely gone outside, seeing as she’s not exactly fond of mingling in crowds, yet you still scan the people on the dance floor just to make sure. There are no direct indications of her presence once you step outside, but the sight of her car parked right across the club catches your eye. She’s already in the driver’s seat, with the engine turned on. Baran already knew that you were going to follow her; she just wanted to see the extent of her control over you with her own eyes. She can feel the corners of her mouth threaten to lift, clearly satisfied.
No words are exchanged when you enter her car and assume the passenger seat next to her. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, feeling embarrassed that you thought you could defy her and let other people touch you when she’s evidently already put her claim on you. Watching the streetlights pass through the window, the buildings start to become sparse when she exits San Francisco, driving south. She breaks the silence when nearing her apartment building.
“How long have you known each other?” You didn’t expect her calm questioning, expecting her to assert her dominance over you.
“Eman? About 10 years,” you answer, a little wary of what she’s going to do next. She briefly looks at you when she enters a turn.
“That’s a long time.” You hum at her, resting your head against the glass, looking at her side profile. The lustre in her eyes shifted quickly; you almost didn’t see it. Baran felt her heart wrench upon learning that you and Eman have a long history; knowing she can’t compete with someone you’ve already known for a long time and someone who intricately knows you.
There are a thousand words you want to say to her, to let her know that there’s nothing even close to romantic happening between you and him, but you decide to remain silent, giving her the chance to say something- anything. Instead, she becomes distant, not sparing a glance towards you when she exits the car after parking. The silence continues after entering her apartment. She takes her time taking off her shoes and places them inside the shoe rack near the front door. You do the same, following right behind her.
When the two of you enter her bedroom, she starts to unbutton her shirt but leaves it on and sits on the bed, her back against the wooden headboard: she’s offering for you to sit on her lap, and you obey her silent order. She slips her hands underneath your shirt, tracing mindless circles on your skin with her thumb, her gaze is focused on anything but you, purposefully avoiding looking at your eyes to not see the expression on your face. You can see the tangled mess of her thoughts in her dark irises. Carefully, you raise your hand to gently caress the left side of her head, burrowing your fingers into her hair. She closes your eyes and releases a sigh through her nose upon feeling you gently massaging her scalp.
Baran knows exactly when she started falling for you after several days of reflection. It was during the late morning after your first time sleeping with each other. She immediately knew that you were going to be trouble for her when she saw you cooking breakfast with only her college sweater on, and when you softly told her that you needed to go, while caressing her head as you are doing so currently. She fell even harder when you came over after she had a rough week, when she was vulnerable, and you stayed right by her side, never pushing, only giving her comfort.
Despite her contradicting acts and intentionally using your affections for her as a leverage to control you and have you wrapped around her finger, what she feels for you is genuine, even primal in nature. She knows it to be true because she can’t imagine living her future without you, and if you somehow disappear during her lifetime, she’ll dedicate the rest of her living moments to you. Baran has to have you in her short existence in this world; she’ll go through heaven and hell just to have you by her side.
It’s quite easy to tell why Baran needs to have control to stay sane when all her life she’s felt powerless against herself. Only in recent years had she started to feel like she actually has jurisdiction over her life, leading her to do everything in her own terms; from deciding what to pursue for her education, managing activities and inanimate objects, and extending to her interactions with other people. Baran isn’t conscienceless; she isn’t numb emotionally, she knows that the way she’s treating you is wrong, but she can't help it. It makes her feel fulfilled when she sees you bend to her liking. She desires to have control over you, like it’s a cardinal sin she can’t help but commit over and over again. How can she not when you’re so obedient to her? Completely willing to do anything she wants without forcing you to. Baran isn’t blind either; she can see that you want to give her everything you can, including letting her devour you just to satisfy her hunger.
For the first time in what feels like forever, Baran finally looks at you, seeing your brows furrow in mild concern due to her silence. You look gorgeous underneath the dim lighting of her bedroom, the shadows accentuating your features, and your lips look extremely kissable at this moment. She couldn’t restrain herself; she let herself lean into you and claim your lips with hers, moving slowly to savour the taste of your lips and pour her love into the kiss. Heat crawls up into your cheeks; the intimacy of her actions makes you shy. She doesn’t let her hands wander away from your waist, only tightening her hold on you to pull you closer to her.
No words can describe the depth of Baran’s love for you, but she will try her best to express them for you. If that still isn’t enough, she’ll physically and mentally put in the effort to change for you, for her to let go of her need for control. No one on this Earth can stop her from loving you; she’ll even spit in the face of gods if they forbid her to. Baran’s willing to do anything for you, just as you are to her.
Both of you are unaware of it now, but this is the exact moment where things start to change for the better.
hi so... PIAK is gonna be split into two parts. part one is gonna have act 1 and 2 and part two for the ending... pt 1 is gonna come out either tonight or tomorrow night (mnl time)
i gotta admit, i got a little carried away HAHAH gonna rant abt it after posting all 2 parts :))))
i fear kanibalismo, the baran fic, is gonna be long. im already at 3k words in for the first scene and i have it laid out for a total of 16 scenes sooo yeaa....
"you could've had it with me, but instead, you gave it up"
synopsis: trinity santos had broken up with you after she disagrees with your decision to pursue your acting career. a few years later when you've gotten your big break, you get into an accident on set and you're rushed to PTMC only to find out that the doctor who's going to treat you is none other than your ex herself.
pairings: ex!trinity santos x f!reader | ??? x f!reader
tags: angsttt, fluff, princess in her natural element (gossiping), age-gap relationship
word count: 5.3k
trin is kinda an asshole here tbh but don't worry, i'll redeem her on ipagdadamot kita :)))
What once was your very supportive girlfriend, who was enthusiastic in helping you with the lighting of your taped auditions and eagerly volunteered to help you read your lines, had slowly become someone who doubted you in everything you did. Her encouragement had turned into disbelief laced with annoyance, and her admiration for you for your fire and passion in pursuing your dreams had completely disappeared. At first, you thought that the honeymoon stage of your relationship had finally dwindled down after three years of being together and that medical school was just wearing her out; it was true, but she never stopped taking you out for your weekly dates, as it had become a tradition early on in your relationship, and she never had a hard time expressing her love for you. There was no concrete reason to doubt her, so you never did; you always gave her the benefit of the doubt when she stopped bringing you along with her when she was out with her friends. Until the ‘unexpected’ happened.
There was a wide smile present on your lips when you walked into Trinity’s apartment. You’d been staying there more often in the past year than you have in your own place, as you had practically moved in with your girlfriend, and it was a no-brainer decision because her apartment building is nicer than yours and your neighbours were quite a handful bunch. You had just gotten off the phone with a casting director who brought you good news after months of auditions that resulted in nothing. You had started to doubt yourself when you’d received the call, as you had no hopes for this specific audition, and in a way, you had made an unspoken ultimatum for yourself. Trinity, who was nose-deep in a medical textbook, immediately felt the happiness radiating off of you when you entered the room, and her brows had lifted up in curiosity. Of course, you noticed her expression.
“I got a call back. They want me to fly into LA for a screen test. I think it’s for an indie movie but they’re keeping things secret for some reason. I heard that Anya Taylor-Joy’s the lead for this one.” You trailed off and you didn’t see the way Trinity’s face had fallen.
So, you kept talking. “I should prolly move to LA, don't ya think? I’ve been thinking about it for months but… I dunno, I don’t really want to leave you here in Pittsburgh.” You shrugged because, despite how Trinity would always act unbothered, you knew she doesn’t like being alone.
“Are you seriously thinking of moving to LA?” The tone of her voice surprised you a little. You’d never heard her talk to you like that before.
“Yeah? I mean- the audition’s in LA and there’s more opportunities there. It’s gonna be expensive flying back and forth from Pennsylvania to California just to audition.” Even though you gave yourself an ultimatum in this career path, this project seemed promising to you.
“I thought you quit acting?” You blinked at her.
“No… just because I’m freelancing some programming stuff doesn’t mean I stopped auditioning.”
Trinity sat up straight from her seat at the dining table. “You’re serious about this.” She observed you like you’re a patient that needed diagnosing.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
In a split second, her entire figure went from being calm to being infuriated. “God, you’re so childish.” She stood up. You were stunned as you had never seen her act like this before.
“Excuse me?-”
“When will you realise that acting is not for you?”
It’s the very first time she raised her voice at you. You’ve had fights before, naturally, but she has always kept her composure and reeled in her anger and frustration.
“You’ve been auditioning for years and all you’ve gotten was minor roles and a victim on that one Law and Order episode!”
“What are you saying? I thought you were okay with this?”
“I was! And now I’m realising that this is all bullshit and a complete waste of time!” She dragged her hand through her hair in frustration. “-and money!”
“You’ll be better off with a real job than having your dreams crushed by a disgusting pervert who just wants to see women get naked on the screen!” You scoffed at Trinity in disbelief.
“Do you really think that low of-” She cut you off harshly, she didn’t allow you to have a say in this fight.
“No. I’m done. I can’t be with someone who can’t let go of their childish dreams.” You stood frozen in front of her as she rounded her way to you.
“Trinity-” She pushed you out of her front door.
"Good luck in LA.” The door slammed in front of you causing you to flinch at the loud noise.
You stood still in front of her door for a whole minute, completely shocked at what just happened. You were so taken aback by everything that you were more confused than devastated as you were just called childish by the person whom you loved the most- the woman whom you thought you’d be spending your entire life with. But it was all so ironic- what had become the reason for her breaking up with you ended up being the big break you needed as an actor. It was the role that had caught the eye of many producers, several directors, and writers as your name had spread like wildfire within the industry, and it was as if they were suddenly bewitched by your acting because you were already getting dragged into other projects when the movie hit its post-production stage.
Now, a few years later, you’re grimacing in pain as you’re sitting down on a gurney after a stupid miscalculation on your part. Your agent is hovering near you while she’s talking to someone- most likely a producer– on her phone; stress is heavily influencing her facial expressions as she releases a sigh after the call has ended.
“It’s fine. I don’t need to go to a hospital, I can just sleep this off.” You wince when you feel the pain radiating from your ribs as you try to convince your agent- as well as the paramedics– that you’re okay but they’re clearly not buying it. You couldn’t act your way out of this one as they loaded the gurney up with you on it in the ambulance.
“Seriously, I’m fine-”
“You’re clearly in pain. You can cry your ass off in command but you can’t control your own face to save your life.” You roll your eyes at your agent, and you open your mouth to speak out your rebuttal, but she holds her hand out as a signal for you to stop and shut up.
“The producers want to be sure that you’re in great shape. They can’t afford another recast for this movie.” Her reasoning makes the complaint die out on your tongue.
“Fine. Just don’t take me to PTMC-”
“Too late, we’re already here.” The paramedics quickly push the doors open as they effortlessly haul the gurney back on the ground.
“Fuck. That was quick.” You comment as you try your best to stand up and ignore the pain in your ribs that knocked the breath out of your lungs.
“No it’s fine, I can walk.” The way you almost fall face first onto the concrete as soon as the words left your mouth is comical and your agent immediately scrambles to catch you.
“Nope. You’re not fucking walking, okay?” Letting out a huff, you lay back down on the gurney against your own wishes.
“I swear to god you need to be wrapped in bubble wrap for the rest of the shoot.”
“Jesus- calm your tits down. I’m okay.” Your agent is the type of person to always overreact. It’s amusing but sometimes it can get irritating to hear.
“Yeah right, I’ll wait for what the doctor says.” The paramedics only share a look with each other as the two of you continue to banter while they wheel you into the ER.
“After this we’ll be back on set, right?”
“You wish. The rest of the shoot day is cancelled and the writers are happy ‘cause the glorious beings from up above wants to change everything in act two because according to them ‘it’s too woke’.” She throws her hands up to make air quotes.
“What’s ‘too woke’ about a heist action movie?” You copy her actions.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Charlize Theron fighting in a suit instead of a dress?” You roll your eyes in disbelief of the whole scenario, but at least the rewrite will give you enough time to recover from whatever injury you just gained from being an idiot.
The male paramedic clears his throat as he states your name to start presenting your case, “-27 got hit by a stunt car while filming on a movie set. These two kept fighting on the way here so…” He and a male doctor with greying hair make eye contact while you get wheeled into a trauma room. You hear the doctor call out someone’s name to assist him, but you don’t comprehend him because you’re way too entertained by your agent explaining how they couldn’t cut your clothes off unless it was absolutely necessary to.
“Fuck. I guess it’s my lucky day today.” You hear a familiar voice enter the room, your attention turning to the brunette you haven’t seen in ages. The gnawing feeling of dread befalls you, and you swear you hear your heart rate pick up from the monitor.
“What? You two know each other?” Asks the male doctor who looks back and forth between you and Trinity while your agent connects the dots in her mind. She was about to say something detrimental to your reputation as the tell-tale smirk starts to appear on her lips, and Trinity- thankfully– speaks up first.
“Something like that.” She turns to your agent. “You need to wait outside so we can properly look at her injuries.” Your agent throws you a look that says ‘we’re talking about this later’ before exiting the room with no complaints. The male doctor has his eyebrows raised in amusement, knowing that it’s not needed for Trinity to basically kick her out of the room since you’re not in a critical condition.
She still looks the same since you last saw her, though; you could clearly see the tiredness in her eyes. The only difference from before is a couple of new tattoos littered all over her forearm. The random ink she has all over her arms used to be your favourite thing about her as you would unconsciously trace the lines with your gentle fingertips, and the action would usually lull you both to sleep.
“Glad to see that you’re a doctor now.” Trinity looks at your face briefly before focusing back on evaluating the severity of your injuries.
“And you made it in Hollywood.” She states while examining the bruises that formed on your ribs and you wince when she touches the skin lightly.
“If you think so.” She steals a glance at your face. You were already attractive when you were dating to the extent that it was annoying to go out with you at night because of how often you would get hit on by unsuspecting men who thought they could bag a woman like you, and it would always drive Trinity insane. But now, you look even better, and Trinity felt like she just got kicked in the belly as everything came back running to her. She shouldn’t have been impatient; if she weren’t, the chances that the two of you are still together could be phenomenal.
Trinity could still remember everything about you: how you would always bite your lip while you’re deep in thought, how you drastically change while in character, how the tone and cadence of your laugh differ in certain situations- she could go on and on for hours if she’d let herself. Now, all she can do is wallow in her regret and wish she could take back her bad choices while watching you command a scene in a movie.
She exhaustedly drops her body down onto a chair before she starts up your chart while waiting for you to get back down from having your scans done. Her sigh catches the attention of Dennis, who is also busy finishing up some charts so that he can finally end his shift. He eyes her sideways at first, observing her, before sidling up next to her.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’re talking to Garcia again.”
Once again, Trinity sighs. “I wish. That’d be easier to deal with right now.” He tilts his head and gives her an expectant look.
“My ex is here and she’s my patient.”
“Which one?” He proceeds to look around, seeing if he could spot the woman that has Trinity wishing she could fast forward time so she could avoid you. A gurney then passes by the workstation and parks in a closed-off room.
“Her.” Trinity points her thumb at you while Dennis and a few nurses who saw you, did a double take, wondering if what they saw was real or if their eyes are just deceiving them.
“Is that-” She cuts him off.
“Yes.” You’re placed in the quieter side of the ED because if people were to realise that there’s a celebrity amongst them, chaos would ensue.
“Your ex is-” His voice grows loud, completely surprised by the casual revelation of his roommate.
“Keep it down.” Trinity hisses and Dennis goes back to whispering. “You’re kidding.” The pointed look that she bears tells him otherwise.
“How did-”
“A college party and I broke up with her.” She already anticipated what Dennis was going to ask, it’s obvious and she didn’t need to look away from the monitor to tell him that.
“What? Why?” Trinity keeps on typing, surprising herself that she could multitask during an unpleasant conversation.
“It’s stupid.” She tries to brush it off but Huckleberry stays unmoving and continues to stare at her. “Okay. Fine.” She stops typing and faces him.
“I thought she was wasting her time with acting when she could be doing other things.” Trinity almost flinches at her own words, embarrassed by her past actions as she sounds like a trad man wanting his wife to stay at home and cook meals for him.
“And now she’s-”
“I know. You don’t need to remind me.” She swivels her chair back to face the monitor.
“You’re exes with an actress?” Princess suddenly appears in between them as if she’s summoned whenever there’s gossip brewing in the pitt; to be fair, they weren’t secretive enough with their conversation, as she heard half of their conversation a couple metres away. Huckleberry jumps, startled by her presence.
“Yep.” Trinity answers with a flat tone. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”
“It’s a… sore spot for her.” Dennis explains and the nurse raises her brow up as a signal for him to continue.
“She broke up with her before she had her big break.” Trinity mentally thanks him for simplifying the breakup to prevent her from getting further embarrassment.
The nurse makes a pained expression while hissing. “That sucks. That’s your loss. You could’ve been a power couple, an actress and a doctor.”
“Clearly.” Her words come out as bitter and she barely manages to look unbothered by her current predicament as she stares at your chart in front of her.
“Are you going to talk to her?”
“Why? I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want anything to do with me after being an asshole to her.” Trinity breaks her stare from the monitor and looks at the nurse instead.
“You won't know it if you don't try.” Princess gives her a look filled with hope and reassurance. “And, you’re clearly not over her.” She sighs at the nurse’s added comment.
“Whatever.” She stands up after Princess hands her the tablet with your scans on it and she starts heading to your room.
“Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.” Dennis says with a smirk on his lips, and Trinity raises her empty hand up to flip him off while walking away.
Trinity can’t help but think whether or not she should try talking to you, just like what Princess said- it wouldn’t hurt, but she doesn’t know if she can handle that kind of conversation today. She doesn’t even know if you’re in a relationship with someone new since you’ve kept your private life out of the public eye; it’d be awkward if this is how she finds out that you’re with another celebrity since there have been rumours surrounding you and a past castmate in your latest film, and everyone seems to be convinced that you two are together- except for Trinity, of course. Regardless, you’re now out of Trinity’s reach, and all she can rely on is your past together if she does manage to pull up her big girl pants and actually talk to you.
All the while Trinity is trying to muster the courage to talk to you and go through all of your results and scans, you and your agent are busy bickering about the movie. For a short while, you forget that your ex-lover is your doctor as you worry about what’s going on with the movie amongst other things. You watch as your agent runs her hand through her hair for the millionth time today after once again getting off her phone.
“So what, shoot’s cancelled for three weeks?” You’ve managed to hear most of her conversation with the director, and she nods at you while reading through several texts- no doubt they’re all about your unfortunate accident.
“Mhm. Thanks to you.”
You huff. “Stop acting like they’re not rewriting the whole movie on short notice.” Her lips drop to a frown upon seeing a certain text, her thumbs moving quickly to send a reply.
“It’s kinda your fault too.” She sends the message and gets to typing another one right away.
“I’m barely in it. They could do all the scenes with Charlize first.”
“She has another project. Her team says she can’t go on set until next month.” She finally finishes replying to the urgent messages she’s seen so far.
She blinks, suddenly remembering the first sentence you’ve said. “And you’re barely in it? You’re the lead in this fucking movie, what the hell are you talking about?” You shrug, and just like a miracle dropping down from heaven- preventing you from becoming deaf due to your agent’s relentless scolding- Trinity enters the room.
“I have your results.” She announces and your agent takes a deep breath to compose herself before fully turning her attention to the doctor.
Trinity addresses you. “You have a few hairline fractures on your ribs and some bruises and scratches, but other than that, everything’s all good.”
“Can she go home now?” Your agent asks and Trinity nods at her. “Yes. Rib fractures heal on its own for around two to six weeks.” She turns her focus back to you. “You need rest and you should put ice on it- especially for the bruising, they will get ugly. Just take it easy, no heavy lifting, and no stunts.” You almost groan at the no stunts part because you prefer to do it all yourself as much as you can.
“Yeah, her personal doctor would approve of that.” You elbow your agent’s side and while she’s in the middle of telling her joke, her phone starts to ring for the nth time.
“I’m sorry. I have to take this.” She takes off while apologising, making you think that one of the producers had called her.
The silence settles in for a couple of seconds before Trinity speaks. “A nurse will give you the discharge papers.” She purses her lips and gives you a small smile before turning around. She stays standing still for three seconds, her hand already on the doorknob, contemplating if she should put in the prescription for your medicine here at the room’s own workstation or not. Eventually, she decides against leaving the room.
She turns around to face you. “I just… didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Me neither.” You look at her, seeing the dark bags under her eyes and her hair a little bit messy from moving around all day.
“How are you? Be honest ‘cause you look like shit.” Trinity chuckles at your word choice as she steps closer to the workstation in the corner of the room.
“I’m good.” She taps her ID to the scanner. “This place has the tendency to suck the life out of you.”
Her forehead wrinkles in confusion as she reads your current address. “It says here you’re still living here in Pittsburgh. Didn’t you move to LA?”
“I moved back here a year and a half ago.” Trinity seems to pause for a second, her fingers stalling above the keyboard before she goes back to typing like nothing had happened and logs off once she finishes.
She turns back around to face you. “Is acting everything you imagined it to be?”
“It’s different but it’s still what I expected. If you’re not surrounded by good people, you can end up selling your soul to the devil- literally and figuratively.” You can tell that she’s nervous: she’s fidgeting with her fingers and she’s leaning her body weight onto one leg and shifting it every 30 seconds.
Trinity takes a deep inhale, knowing that it’s now or never since you’re only going to be much harder to come by next time.
“I’m sorry… for the way I talked to you when I… broke up with you.” She manages to make eye contact with you. You unconsciously take a deep breath, the sharp pain on your ribs now reduced to a dull hum all thanks to the painkillers they gave you.
“It’s just… I still haven’t forgiven myself for that and I…” Trinity scoffs at herself, feeling foolish that she’s doing this but still goes for it.
“I’d be lying to myself if I said that I didn’t miss you.”
A surge of irritations rushes through your veins, making you clench your jaw before relaxing.
“Do you really miss me or do you just want me back because I’ve made a name for myself?” Trinity freezes like a deer caught in headlights.
All of the instances in the months up until the day she broke up with you came back flooding: she used to proudly introduce you to the new people she had met until you were just hanging around her in the background; she used to be so proud of you every time you booked something, and then the excitement turned into an eye roll and annoyance. The only time she treated you nicely was when the two of you were alone, where there was no one else around that could recognise either of you. It made you think that she much preferred that you stayed working at home as she knew that there’s someone waiting for her in her apartment and she didn’t need to worry about cooking something since you always cooked for her. You knew that there was something going on as she changed, but you couldn’t let yourself see it for what it truly was because you loved her.
“I wasn’t blind, Trinity. You were ashamed of me, you treated me like I was nobody whenever you’re with your friends… you could’ve said this years ago- you could’ve reached out to me, and now… what? You care now that everyone knows me?”
“What? No. I love you. I didn’t reach out to you ‘cause I thought you were busy- you obviously were– and how could I when I called you childish? I was an asshole.” Despite her frustration, Trinity didn’t raise her voice at you. Not a single octave.
“Exactly. You said that acting was childish- why would I even get back together with you when you didn’t take me seriously?” Trinity’s shoulders visibly slump down as she lets go of the sudden wave of anger she felt and takes a step closer to your bed.
“Come on. I’m sorry.” Her voice softens. “I really didn’t mean to say that- I was stressed and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” It took a lot for you to keep your eyes from rolling, a little bit surprised by her audacity but you should’ve expected this from her.
“Whatever. You’re too late. What’s done is done, there’s nothing we can do. It’s all in the past now.” Trinity wants to be closer to you, to hold your hand and keep apologising for everything she has done but she stops herself when she sees the stone cold gaze in your eyes.
“Can you forgive me? I-”
The door suddenly swings open.
“Eshgham? What happened?” Baran rushes in, panicking as she immediately goes to your side. She doesn’t even notice Trinity standing on the other side in her hurry to feel your warmth with her fingertips. Her hand gently wraps around your wrist, subtly feeling for your pulse.
“I saw your agent outside and she told me you got in an accident on set.” Your heart breaks at the worry her tone carries. She lets her eyes wander around your body to check for any external injuries and Trinity could only stand there, effectively stunned as she put the puzzle pieces together. Her heart drops to her stomach. Oh.
The ‘personal doctor’ comment your agent made, your Pittsburgh address, and your own words: ‘you’re too late’.
Fuck.
It was indeed foolish to think that you’re still single after you’ve experienced so many things these past few years. At least it isn’t that one actor Trinity hates, but Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi? Her own attending? She’s truly and utterly fucked.
Trinity clears her throat to make her presence known to her attending as she still doesn’t seem to notice her lingering near the two of you.
“She has a few hairline fractures on her ribs.” She repeats what she has said earlier.
“Dr. Santos.” Baran finally addresses her. “What labs did you order?” You tuned out Trinity’s words as you barely know anything about them, focusing on how tight Baran is holding your hand and the worry that is evident in her dark irises despite the composed face she’s keeping on.
You had met Baran two years ago in California, where there was a medical conference at the hotel you were staying at for a nearby premiere. You were still a relatively new name in the industry, but for some reason, Baran knew who you were when you stopped by the bar. She didn’t think she had a chance with you since you were younger and a bit famous, and Baran almost didn’t shoot her shot, but when you turned your head and made eye contact with her from across the bar, she knew that she was a goner and that she needed to talk to you. And the rest is history.
She nods at Trinity when she finishes speaking. Baran then leans down to press a lingering kiss on your forehead as Trinity bitterly watches from the side.
“What happened?” She asks, her soft gaze tracing the outlines of your features as if she’s memorising each tiny detail on your face. Your hand goes up to cup her jaw before easing away the creases on her forehead with your thumb.
“I was supposed to avoid the car but I lost my footing when I landed.” You couldn’t look her in the eyes out of embarrassment, opting to stare at the curtains instead.
“Were you wearing any safety gear?” You nod.
“I was. I’m just a little bruised. I think it hurt my pride more when it happened.” Baran lets out a breathy giggle and you give yourself a mental pat in your back for making her worry disappear even if it’s just for a fleeting second.
The attending lifts your hand up to her lips. “I’m sorry it took me long to get here. I was going through patients so I could get home early.” She was planning to surprise you and her son with a hearty dinner tonight. Her cooking is now going to be non-negotiable for later since you need to rest as per doctor’s orders. Your ex sees how your irises soften with a certain warmth behind them; you used to look at her like that, and now somebody else is on the other side of your affection.
She once again awkwardly clears her throat and hands Baran the tablet. “Here. You can double check the results yourself. I’ll get the discharge papers.” By the time you look over at the door, Trinity is already gone and you feel your body instantly relax under Baran’s touch.
“What happened? I heard you two arguing outside.” Baran knew of your past with Trinity because you can’t keep anything from her- even for the things you’ve signed an NDA for. That’s why she couldn’t help but be harsh to the R2 when she first worked with her.
“I’ll tell you everything when we get home, okay?” It’s now your turn to place a lingering kiss on the top of her forehead and she easily melts into your touch.
“Please be careful? I don't want to see you here as a patient ever again.” It amazes you every time you see her eyes become so expressive; it makes your whole being buzz with warmth and adoration when she looks at you like you’re everything she’s wanted in life. You slowly drag your fingers through her hair, pushing back the curls that had escaped her hair clip before cupping her jaw with both of your hands. She places hers above yours, running her thumbs over your knuckles.
“I promise.”
Her dark irises flits left and right before drifting down to your nose and finally to your lips where her gaze lingers for longer. A blink, and her lips are on yours, feather-like at first as she tests the waters before letting the distance close fully. You can feel her affection, love, and worry all at once as she deepens the kiss, making your breath hitch in surprise. Your right hand wanders down to the nape of her neck, your fingers instinctively playing with her hair.
“Just fill this out and-” You and Baran take your time to separate from each other before looking at who just entered the room. It’s Princess. You could feel her internally groan knowing that she’s the number one supplier of gossip in the whole ED and that this little incident would immediately spread once the nurse goes back to the station.
Princess only looks at the two of you with a smirk plastered on her face before handing Baran the discharge papers. She gives the attending a quick wink before leaving the room. You let out a small giggle, causing Baran to do so as well.
Outside, the nurse struts towards the central hub as if she’s suddenly reinvigorated- which she basically did from you two– and Dana looks her up and down before deciding to not say anything. Princess’ smile becomes even wider when she spots Dennis and Trinity typing away at their workstations. The two notice her immediately as her shadow falls over them. Upon seeing the downcast look of annoyance, embarrassment, and dread written all over Trinity’s face, the nurse knew immediately that she witnessed something she never wants to see ever again.
“Guess what. There’s a new power couple in town. Our favourite actress with broken ribs and our tech-savvy attending.” Trinity groans.
based on this request. through unfortunate circumstances, you meet the ED’s new attending. you wish you had met under different conditions. I chipped my tooth while writing this and I’ll give $5 to whoever can guess what line I was writing when it happened.
“you didn’t have to come down here and escort me,” she says, her voice cutting through the silence that has grown between you in the elevator. “I could have made it on my own.”
“I know,” you say. “I don’t doubt that you could’ve, but it sounds like today has been hard for you and I thought you might appreciate the company.”
dr al-hashimi is silent for a few seconds. then, quietly, “your patient satisfaction scores must be through the roof.”
you smile softly at that. “I don’t do this for everyone.”
“so I’m getting special treatment?”
the elevator doors open — you are the first to step out. “for taking on this mess of a hospital, I think you’ve earned it.”
—
“it’s quieter up here,” baran remarks. she follows you into the empty room, sits down where you direct her to.
“it’s a bit of a different pace,” you say, which vaguely translates to: my department is fucked up just like the rest of this place, but it’s still a small step behind yours.
she doesn’t respond. she looks down at her hands, fidgeting with one of her rings. she looks disheartened in a way that makes you want to look away — like you shouldn’t be seeing her like this, like this isn’t her, even though you only met her a few minutes ago.
“are you still with me?” you ask.
she looks up at you. she blinks, trying to gather her composure more fully. “yes, sorry.”
you step over to her, and she looks up at you. “we’re going to get all of this figured out,” you say.
you aren’t sure why you are so compelled to give her softness. you are not typically warm with patients, though your bedside manner is not necessarily bad. and when you had been called and asked to have a look at the ED’s new attending after she admitted to having two absence seizures while on the clock, you had seen it as just another job to take on, another thing to add to your plate.
maybe it’s the way she looks at you: like she is hanging onto every word you speak, every small fragment of hope you can spare.
“do you want to tell me what happened today?” you ask. “I was looking at your files, it doesn’t look like you’ve had a seizure in over a year.”
she explains it as best she can, but in the end both of you know there’s no point in guessing the cause until you take a look at her, and she seems anxious about that as well — like she is afraid of what you might find, what you might say.
“I don’t want to lose my license,” she blurts out once she’s finished explaining what she experienced. “that’s a possibility dr robby brought up, and I don’t want it to come to that if it doesn’t have to. I have a son that I have to drive to school, I have a life—”
“that’s what I’m trying to help you with,” you interject. you pull over a stool and take a seat in front of her, eye-to-eye. “I don’t want to have to tell you that you can’t drive your son to school anymore. I don’t want to have to tell you to make other arrangements to get to work. and I know dr robby is only on his own side, but that’s not the case here.”
baran seems to appreciate this, or at least she relaxes a little and you take it as a win.
you wish you had met under different circumstances — that you could reach out to comfort her and not encroach upon some policy or another, or that you could tell her you’d be happy to offer her a ride if worst comes to worst and have it not seem weird or like you’re trying to fucking kidnap her.
you can’t, so you don’t. but when you meet her eyes again, she seems to already understand what messages present themselves in yours.
“should we get started?” you ask. you hope she is not still inclined to say no.
“sure,” she says, “but only if you keep giving me special treatment like this.”
—
—
—
thank you for reading :) I might do a part two or companion fic to this bc I rlly like the idea of neurologist reader,, if anyone has any ideas lmk!
in honour of the loved one being released on the 14th on netflic, we got multo (cup of joe) for baran inspired by the movie
also, exodus which was originally going to be for sophia laforteza is now going to be for dennis
if anyone wants to be tagged on a certain fic, just reply to this post :)
each fic is pretty much based on the vibes of the song so if you know the song, you'll know what to expect :)))
if you're craving for some opm hits, your one and only host, nyx, would gladly supply you with some filling songs that'll sate your hunger. all that and more only on 108.9 night fm. sweet dreams!
(ps i also have an idea for a love triangle fic featuring mikha and sophia so..... anyone want that?)
"do what you want but save the last dance for me."
synopsis: fate is chaotic but at least it brought you into emery's life.
pairing: emery walsh x f!reader
tags: established relationship, fluff, mentions of a past controlling relationship, same universe as captivated, minor character gets in a car crash
word count: 2.6k
this fic is the reason why i made walsh like mc in the captivated universe :)
You only went back inside the store because your friend had forgotten her hoodie inside and you volunteered to get it for her. It hadn’t even been a full minute since you’d stepped foot into the stockroom when you heard a loud crash and several screams that echoed throughout the building; your feet had their own mind as you immediately ran out of the store and an unpleasant feeling had erupted in your gut and you hoped that whatever had happened outside didn’t involve your friend. But fate is cruel- because if you didn’t clock out a minute earlier or realise that your friend’s hoodie was missing 47 seconds later, it’d be the two of you writhing in excruciating pain on the pavement, barely hanging onto consciousness as your vision becomes hazy and the ringing in your ears begins to deafen you.
Surprisingly, you’d managed to stammer out the emergency when you dialled 911 as soon as you physically could as did some bystanders who lingered around in an attempt to help without overstepping and making things even more complicated. You stepped back to assess everything: the hood and side of the black sedan are completely wrecked with glass scattered everywhere as he crashed into the next door’s storefront, the driver is unconscious inside with the air bags deployed and you could see the blood running down his face. He must’ve swerved to avoid crashing the driver’s side into the building as an attempt to save himself but hit your friend in turn. This seems like an ironic way of the world showing the saying ‘a life for a life’ to remind you that life is both delicate and expendable in this boundless universe; anything can happen to anyone if they’re unfortunately situated at the right place in the wrong time.
That’s how you ended up in PTMC’s ER, standing helplessly right outside trauma one, watching the doctors do their own thing: someone in grey scrubs is using a red telephone at the side while the man in black scrubs whose hair is greying and has a stubble- but still looks handsome– takes the lead all the while you’re still clutching her hoodie in your hands, seeking comfort. Just in the next room at trauma two is the driver who was apparently drunk while driving and you can’t even manage to be mad at him right now because you’re still worried sick about your friend who’s currently getting a tube shoved down her throat to help her breathe.
“Is there somebody else we can call? Any loved ones? Family?” a red-haired nurse approaches you and places a supportive hand on your shoulder.
“...uh… I already called her parents. They’re on a vacation in Quebec.” your gaze is still fixed inside the room.
“She’s a family friend ever since we were little, we basically grew up together. …we moved here around a year and a half ago ‘cause of our jobs and she just moved to her new place closer to her work.” there’s something comforting about confiding to a stranger after experiencing a traumatic event; there’s no judgement, only sympathy.
Being focused on how they’re quickly working around your friend, you didn’t notice someone wearing a dark plum coloured scrubs enter the trauma room until she was already gloved up, hands hovering over where there’s a lot of blood and you could hear her argue with the handsome doctor from outside the room. After a minute passes, they start to wheel her out of the room and the grey-haired doctor makes his way over to you.
“She’s stable. We’ve managed to control the bleeding caused by the ruptured spleen in her abdomen and the one inside her chest that was punctured by one of her broken ribs. She’s on her way to get a CT and after that she’ll go straight to the OR.” his name reads Jack Abbot on his ID; the low, comforting tone of his voice manages to give you some form of reassurance as you watch the rest roll up the gurney towards the direction of the elevator.
You give him a sincere look, “thank you.”
“No worries.” once he exits your field of view, you see the woman in the dark plum scrubs talking to another woman with her back turned towards you. Your nerves suddenly shoot up through the roof when the one in the dark navy scrubs suddenly makes eye contact with you, causing you to shyly look away and start the walk towards the direction of where you last saw the gurney go. Unfortunately, your pace isn’t quick enough because the dark navy scrubs lady has caught up to you.
“Are you the friend of Sam Everett?”
You awkwardly halt your steps, “yes.” the two of you resume walking after you say your name.
“Dr. Garcia will be operating on your friend, I’ll be assisting her.” she starts, “is there anyone I could call so that you’re not alone? I know how hard it can be doing all of this by yourself.” her voice softens as she is reminded by her own past experience.
You shake your head no, “I’ll be okay.” when the two of you pass by a workstation, her name gets called.
“Surgery is on the fourth floor.” she informs you with a kind smile before she jogs off and greets a curly-haired woman who looks like she just got off her shift and you can hear her ask the lady from surgery when she would clock out because she can wait for her; the conversation doesn’t sound professional as it feels personal, but no one else seems to notice them except for you.
Just when the elevator doors are about to close, a pale hand shoots out and stops it from closing fully. An all too familiar face appears on the other side.
It’s Emery.
You had met her during one of your shifts at the bookstore as your part-time job a few months back; she’d taken an immediate liking to you when you had given her a shy smile because you thought that she was attractive and apparently, she thought you were too, since she asked you out for a date the next day- of course, you said yes. It only took you about a month to fall in love with her which scared you; you didn’t exactly have the best experience with your past relationship and every time you thought about getting into another one, it terrified you. Then Emery came strolling into your life and she took your fears and flushed them down the toilet like it was no big deal. She knows exactly what to do and what to say all the time and it was extremely hard not to fall in love with her.
The two of you are currently figuring out how to navigate your busy schedules as you two had just recently made things official: you work the whole day but from home most of the time and Emery is a surgeon, which naturally demands a lot of time from her, but what you didn’t know is that she works at PTMC- a detail that she has never brought up to you because she doesn’t like talking about work as she wants to keep you separate from it; she doesn’t want to see the glint of happiness and innocence in your eyes slowly fade away when she tells you the horrors she has seen from her job, nor does she want you to worry more about her when you’re already fully aware of how mentally and physically draining being a healthcare professional is.
You could only imagine how nervous and shocked she felt when she saw you standing in the elevator, looking distraught with your hair dishevelled and a hoodie that she’d never seen before is clutched tightly in your hands: Emery’s worry spikes and her eyes widen; a millisecond passes and she’s already cupping your jaw, checking for any signs that you’re hurt.
“Are you okay?” her voice trembles slightly. She knows your friend, obviously, as the two of you were usually a package deal- but only in saying– she hasn’t met Sam before and her name is common enough for Emery not to think that that woman on the gurney is your friend.
“Yeah I- I’m okay. Just… shocked, I mean- I just grabbed her hoodie then when I got back out she’s just-” you choke and you can feel the tears burning in your eyes; Emery runs the pads of her thumbs back and forth on your cheekbones before cradling your head and placing you against her chest.
Lub- dub
Lub- dub
Lub- dub
The sounds of her heartbeat calm you down as you try to mimic her breathing; you release a sigh as you melt further into her, feeling the warmth of her body radiating off of her as her presence engulfs you in a blanket of comfort and security, effectively getting rid of the primal flight or fight response that’s still lingering in your nerves. Your soft little moment is cut short by the dinging sound of the elevator, indicating your arrival at the fourth floor. Emery never leaves your side, opting to sit down next to you and hold you in her arms instead of leaving for a couple of minutes so she could clock out; she knows that you need her company now more than ever and she doesn’t have it in her to let you go despite knowing that her colleagues can see her act in a way that they have never seen before- whispering comforting words into your ears as she hugs you like you’re a delicate little flower. She nuzzles her nose into the crown of your head, placing a lingering kiss while she holds you tighter against her chest, reminding herself of your heart that’s beating normally as she discreetly brushes her fingers against your temporal pulse as she also reassures herself that you managed to avoid getting a single scratch on you, a physical evidence showing that fate is on your side.
You couldn’t help but laugh because you had caught the flowers during the bouquet toss and it’s a little bit absurd since the diamond ring on your finger shone brightly underneath the warm lights of the wedding reception’s venue. Emery had proposed to you a week ago during her birthday and needless to say, you were utterly flabbergasted as you had no suspicions that she was up to something. Emery refrained from admitting it, but she only bought the ring that same day with Baran and she ended up using her ‘I’m a surgeon’ card so she could get the beautiful ring with no further questions from the jeweller who was side-eyeing her.
But you never really expected for her to actually propose to you, as the concept of marriage was rarely brought up in conversation between the two of you; you never thought of yourself as wife material either. Rather, you thought the opposite; you felt that you were quite annoying and a little bit paranoid, all thanks to your douchebag of an ex and it’s a bit hard to let go of the habit of always updating your partner about your whereabouts, what you’re currently doing, and who you’re with because they easily got upset when you didn’t tell them everything that you did. But Emery didn’t really care about all of those; she’s already content and happy with having you by her side. She just wants you.
When the night had become deeper, the newlyweds became separated for the first time in hours as Al-Hashimi carried her son to her grandparents for them to take him home after saying goodbye to Salazar with a kiss on the cheek and now, the latter can be seen heading her way towards you.
“So, when’s the wedding?” her voice is laced with playfulness but you know that she’s been dying to ask you this question.
“Spring next year. You know, I still can’t believe she proposed.”
“Me either. This wedding feels like a dream.” she admits while you two are watching your partners interact with each other on the other side of the venue.
“Where are you going for the honeymoon?” both of you can hear Soheil’s laughter as Emery lifts him up and down per his request before he finally walks with his grandparents, this interaction brings a smile to your faces.
“Philippines. Baran’s excited to finally meet my family in person. I don’t know how to tell her but our family has a tradition of interrogating the people we date disguised as a casual family dinner.”
You chuckle, “mine too. They were actually very impressed by Emery. My parents were so happy when we announced that we’re engaged.” who wouldn’t be impressed by Emery Walsh anyways? When she had mentioned that she was in the Health Professions Scholarship Program in order to become a surgeon, your father had almost begged the two of you to get married already on the spot.
It didn’t take long for both women to see that their respective fiancee and wife are conversing with each other while watching them so they decided to whisk the two of you in a slow dance when the dj played Kiss of Life by Sade.
“Hey. You saved your last dance for me?” Emery saunters up to you, hands immediately finding the dips of your waist as yours slide up the lapels of her blazer as you straighten them out from being crooked.
“Of course.” her gaze is soft just like her touch on your waist, the corners of her lips are slightly lifted up as her full attention is on you while gently guiding your body to sway with the song.
“How’s my fiancee doing? I hope my PA didn’t say something that could potentially ruin my reputation for you.” you giggle as you lightly hit her chest, her smile becomes even bigger.
“We were talking about their honeymoon.”
Her brows rise up in interest, “oh.” you take a step to get closer to her.
“I was thinking… we should go somewhere with great beaches.” Emery hums in approval with your thought.
Emery doesn’t really mind wherever the two of you end up going on your honeymoon; hell, the two of you could spend it at a shitty resort and she’d still be elated; she always is when you’re around. She doesn’t ask for much: cuddling after her shifts is already more than enough for her and she feels like she’s the luckiest woman in the whole world every time you kiss her on the lips. The act of marriage barely represents the amount of love she has for you; if she were to fully express it, her heart would explode in the sheer volume of it. Others would say that she’s harsh and arrogant, but her skills and intelligence would always prove it otherwise as they mistake her confidence for arrogance– they have never seen her with you. The way her shoulders would always slump in relaxation after she pushes her face deep into the crevice of your neck after getting home from work, how she would always reach out for your warmth when the air becomes slightly chilly, how she would always notice even the slightest discomfort you feel when things start to become too overstimulating, and the way she would always let her guard down around you so she could let you in. Up till this day, Emery still doesn’t know what she did to deserve a woman as loving and caring as you and she will never take you for granted. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to her and she would gladly be selfish to anything that remotely involves you. Now she understands why she was a coward when it came to Salazar years ago; it’s because she was always meant for you; fate had just taken her sweet time before letting the two of you meet.
“I’d be happy to go to some kind of dump if it meant I could spend my time with you.”
OMG MIKHA FIC??? i’m seated! speaking of bini authors, ang hirap kasi i was just digging (WOW DIGGING ??) last night. basta naghuhukay ng kung anong merong fics nandito eh yung mga lumalabas lang puro male x reader 🥲 hayyy tapos when i finally see x fem r, it’s either di na nag ud author or inactive na talaga HAHAHA
do u have any bini author/fic recos? would love to check them out if u have any! <3
i’m glad natuwa ka sa jackpot ko HAHAHHAH BINGO TALAGA WHEN IT COMES TO YOU
looking forward to reading your future works 🫶🏻 and hopefully dumami yung bini edits sa fyp mo hehe
-🌺
hayooo, unforch wala pa akong nababasang bini fics dito, buuuttt... i can reco @/nightfm108 HAHAHAHA pilitin mo lang siya magsulat, may aiah fic yan, 5k words na di pa tinatapos.
sa twt naman where i'm from, walang x reader kaya nga ako nagsulat 😭😭 pero if you're into member x member, reco ko yung friend ko na si @/chaengchujenlis!! kaso puro angst yan HAHAHAHA if magrereply ka, tell her that perceval sent you!
and actually (last na to ang daldal ko na), i have a short maloi fic coming out later hehe impulse write lang. hope you enjoy it, co-bloom 😁
synopsis: wherein yolanda is afraid of commitment but she wants to try and settle down with you.
pairing: yolanda garcia x f!reader
tags: use of the word sex, fluff, that's pretty much it
word count: 3k
i'm playing around with my writing style so there's that... the banner thingy looks tough but the whole thing is sweet imo :)
Yolanda Garcia doesn’t do relationships and everyone knows that. You had immediately caught sight of it when you first saw her at the garden: she had her head held up high with her lips curved up into a smug smile while talking to a girl clad in the shortest cropped top you’ve ever seen; there’s no doubt that she’s flirting with her. The girl was so obviously into her as she played with her hair and she looked up at Yolanda with the best fuck me eyes she could ever muster.
It irritated you because you could see the appeal that Yolanda Garcia has and you were no better than the girl in front of her. The only difference was that you’re watching her from across the garden and ogled at her respectfully; she had her hair up in a loose bun and the stray curls framed her face perfectly, her shirt had a few buttons undone tastefully that gave you a sneak peek of her smooth chest, and her hands… the way her fingers were splayed across the beer bottle she’s nursing… your friend had told you that Yolanda’s a surgeon at PTMC when you had asked her who’d be at the garden party on the fourth. With that fact in mind, you’re certain that she’s incredibly skilled with those hands of hers.
Like an annoying mosquito buzzing near your ear, your friend suddenly appeared right next to you and unfortunately, she saw how you were practically drooling while you stared at Yolanda. You don’t know whether or not to thank her as she started to drag you towards the handsome woman because she knows that you don’t do flings nor situationships, but at least you’d get to know your eye candy.
“What are you doing? She’s literally talking to another girl.” you complained.
“So?” you rolled your eyes at her as if she could see your protest.
Even though you were still a good few metres away from them, Yolanda quickly looked away from the girl and her gaze immediately landed on your figure that’s getting dragged towards her like a kitten who had strayed away from the rest of the litter.
You’d caught her attention.
“Here’s a face I haven’t seen before.” She exclaimed while she looked up and down at your figure and darted her tongue out to quickly wet her lips.
That’s the exact moment that Yolanda Garcia decided that she has to have you.
Throughout the whole night, Yolanda never left your side except for when she volunteered to grab the two of you more drinks; it pissed the girl in the cropped top off because she was so sure that she’d secured the surgeon for the night until you came along and ruined her plans, so she dramatically stomped away while you and Yolanda were in the middle of a boring discussion that was only interesting to the two of you.
Her arm was placed over your shoulders as you two sat side by side on a bench on the quieter side of the garden; the conversation still flowed as you people watched and occasionally looked up to see some stars in the night sky. All of the sudden, you felt her hand drift lower to your upper arm, caressing it casually as she spoke before it drifted down to your waist. You already knew what Yolanda was after when she had given you her full attention, but you had your own ‘reputation’ to uphold: you disliked the concept of flings- of having sex with people you barely knew just because you wanted to. It isn’t about insecurity nor about being a virgin- which you aren’t– it’s about the vulnerability you only want your special person to see; it’s the sign of trust and the show of love you have for that person. Yolanda didn’t know that; only your friend does as well as your previous partners.
The only thing that Yolanda got that night from you was your number despite giving it her best to get into your pants. Though you admit you almost gave in, it was hard to resist her sultry voice and stare that made you look like you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world for her. It was also that night you learnt that Yolanda likes challenges; either her pride didn’t take well that you were the only one to withstand her charms or she simply enjoys the challenge: the thrill that effort gives her when she works hard for something, making the payoff more rewarding than it being only handed over to her. You weren’t aware of it yet, but this was her first attempt at trying to woo you.
Her second attempt came a day later on a Monday night: after you had gotten home from work, she’d sent you a complete dinner that consisted of your favourite foods, having asked your friend for what you liked, as well as a single stem of rose. She clearly did her research and it brought a smile to your face, and you texted her your thanks along with a photo of the meal. Who knew that the Yolanda Garcia could actually be sweet when she truly wanted to? Though you were a little suspicious, you aren’t sure whether or not she’s doing this to be able to bed you or because she’s genuinely interested in you. Unfortunately for Yolanda, you’re not the type to be easily swept away by simple gestures.
Yolanda thought that this might work; after all, it always worked for her before. So, imagine her surprise when you only thanked her and nothing else. ‘That’s it?’ she thought. At first, she was entirely amused with your gall until her mind drifted off to what else she could do to impress you; she’s slowly starting to get more interested in you the longer she’s known you, other women would’ve already given in to her endeavors, but not you. Perhaps you’re special and it made her curiosity bloom. That’s why when she called you a few days later, she decided to impress you with her work: she went into a tangent about the surgeries that she did and even explained how to perform a hilar flip in complete detail when she recalled how her shift went during the national holiday. She didn’t mean to ramble to you about surgical things, but your presence had given her the feeling of comfort and warmth that made her feel that she was worth listening to and you were- intently too– because you were smiling the whole time while you listened to her talk and you could swear that it made you feel the giddiness that’s commonly associated with starting to like someone in a romantic way.
It made Yolanda rethink everything when your friend told her that you don’t do sex unless you are in a committed relationship with that person because she doesn’t do commitment; it was one of the things she avoided because she knew that feeling things made everything complicated and her job took up most of her time that it made maintaining a relationship difficult. It also made her think, why did you always cross her mind? Every time she hears about something that you and she have conversed about before, she remembers you and the way you had said it, and the first time she heard you laugh it was like music to her ears and it became her goal to make you laugh daily even if it was only through messages. It took Yolanda a day to realise that she was harbouring feelings for you when she noticed that she cared too much about you and all the things you’ve said to her, then her mind started to wonder if you felt the same thing for her. Maybe you only saw her as a friend and that’s the reason why you haven’t had sex with her yet, but that would contradict what your friend had said to her before. All of this made her overthink and it’s so unlike her because Yolanda Garcia is always sure about everything since overthinking meant that she’s bound to make mistakes in the OR, she had to be sure or else it would end poorly.
Before she clocked in for her shift, she had prayed to whatever deity that’s out there to give her a sign to see if she should make another attempt to pursue you and to also confess her feelings for you; specifically, a case where a man falls off a tree while trying to retrieve his cat that climbed up said tree because it got scared when a dog walked past them. The sign she asked for was so specific that it actually made her freeze in shock when she got the call for a surgical consult downstairs.
Now, Yolanda has to think of a way on how to approach you before her shift ends.
The sun is just about to set when you step out of your workplace. You have your head down to look at your phone and you’re just about to call for an uber when you spot a familiar figure leaning on a car with flowers in her hand; Yolanda is still in her deep purple scrubs with her hair tightly tied up in a bun since she got a little later off work and she didn’t have any time to quickly drive home to change if she wanted so surprise you after work, she looked nervous as she waited for you outside, but once she saw you, her nerves dissipated away slightly. She approaches you with long, confident strides as you stand still, a little stunned by her sudden show of affection. If she’s still only trying to get in your pants with all this consistent effort, then she’s a determined woman who will go through great lengths just to get laid.
“Hey.” she greets and you echo it.
She hands you the bouquet and upon a closer look, the flowers are white lilies and the whole arrangement is almost as big as your torso and there’s a small card tucked neatly in the middle of it all. “I uh, wrote that note for you to read when you’re home.” Yolanda herself is slightly taken aback by how awkward she sounds as she rubs her hand on the back of her neck; you can’t help but notice the way her biceps flexed as she did so, causing you to wonder if she’s secretly ripped underneath her loose-fitting scrubs.
“Thank you.” you say with a genuine lilt and there’s this adorable glint in your eyes that made the surgeon’s heart feel full. “You’re very sweet.” she freezes when you abruptly step closer to wrap your arm around her neck to give her the warmest hug she’s ever felt. The heat crawls up from her neck and to her ears- ‘cute’-- you think, and she clears her throat to steer your attention away from her flushed cheeks; she stares off over your shoulder for a couple of seconds as she feels her heart thump loudly against her chest. Yolanda’s always confident so, when you saw her falter, it made your chest jump as you brace yourself, kind of already knowing what she’s about to say.
“I don’t know how to say this but- I like you… and I really do. At first I honestly just wanted to sleep with you and I took it as a challenge when you turned me down, but when I got to know you better… I thought that…. What if you’re the one for me…..” you blink at her while you’re processing her words as your chest feels like it’s beating a hundred times per minute.
When you see her face turn into a look filled with horror and hurt, you immediately speak up, “I like you too.” and Yolanda releases a breath of relief and she’s unable to hide her growing smile.
“I’ll take you out on a date around this time tomorrow.” the Yolanda that you know is now back and her confidence is beaming even brighter than before.
“Sure.” you smile back at her, still in disbelief that the surgeon who’s allergic to relationships is going to take you out on a date.
A few months into your relationship with Yolanda, the surgical floor almost blew up when they had learnt that she’s in a committed relationship; even more so when they find out that you always make her lunch to ensure that she’s eating properly, especially during tiring, hectic shifts that seem to just never end. They found that out when one: Yolanda’s suddenly started bringing lunches to work and two: the one time that you brought her lunch personally when she was working one weekend and needless to say, she got swarmed with a tonne of questions once you left the hospital. But that didn’t apply to the people down at the ED because they didn’t know anything about it even after a year had passed since the gossip had only miraculously spread on the fourth floor; that is, until now.
Yolanda lingered down at the pitt for a little longer since she came down here with Dr. Miller and he’s currently talking to one of the x-ray techs about the radiograph of an earlier patient and while she’s leaning against the nurse’s station with her attending only a few steps away, her phone receives a message from you saying that you’re currently taking the elevator up to the surgical centre with more food than usual so her fellow surgeons could have something to eat as well. It seems that Miller picked up on how Yolanda’s face instantly lit up when she received a message from you.
“Is she here?” He asks her as soon as his discussion with the tech is finished. Yolanda nods, “Yeah, she brought some lunch for all of us.”
“Who’s bringing in free lunch?” Dr. Langdon suddenly appeared in front of the surgeons and his voice was a bit loud as it caught the ears of the nurses as well as Dr. Santos who’s secretly eavesdropping from the workstation while keeping up with her charting.
“My girlfriend.” Yolanda proudly announces with a bright smile across her face and everyone near her vicinity immediately perks up.
“You have a girlfriend?” both Princess and Langdon reacts at the same time with partially the same shocked expressions and Yolanda’s smug attitude never fades while Miller only shakes his head in joking disapproval, knowing that this will be the only thing that the pitt is going to talk about just like it did upstairs a year ago and he tries to hide his amused smile.
“Yep. Let’s go. I need to taste my future wife’s cooking before chaos arrives.”
The skies are already dark by the time Yolanda gets home and she’s once again hit by the delicious scent of your cooking; you’d immediately assumed the role of the cook very early on in your relationship because all Yolanda could make was eggs and instant ramen, which unfortunately, was her go to meal before you showed up in the picture. A soft grin forms on your lips when you feel her arms wrap around your body after she has taken a shower and you can smell her lavender shampoo wafting in the air behind you. She hums in contentment while she nuzzles her face further into the side of your neck.
“The ED finally knows that I have a girlfriend.” she whispers, her breath tickles you and her statement makes you giggle.
“It only took them a year to find out.”
Once you’ve finished plating the food, Yolanda spins you around to face her; there’s this visible tiredness in her eyes, but they still carry the soft look of adoration and reverence she has for you while staring back at yours and it makes you feel like you’re falling in love with her all over again.
“What’s up?” you ask her as she stays silent, carefully memorising your features for her to recall during a gruelling shift that calls for her patience. You’re her buoy in the vast, endless ocean, acting as her guiding light and her symbol for home because you have never failed to ground her even after the most traumatic shifts she’s experienced.
“Nothing.” she loosens her grip on your waist after placing a quick kiss on your lips; this enables you to step aside and put on one of your favourite vinyls onto the record player, a gift that Yolanda gave you on your birthday.
Before you could reach the dining room where Yolanda has already placed the plates on the table, she stops you and guides your arms up to wrap around the back of her neck as she settles hers down on your waist with her thumbs slowly caressing your lower ribs, gently swaying you to the slow, calming music you’ve put on. Your lips slightly curve upwards at her sudden attempt at slow dancing and you tilt your head back to look at her dark irises.
“I love you.” Yolanda mutters, looking back at you with the same affection yours has.
Yolanda is forever grateful to you for making her take her time when she’s used to rushing everything in her life; she’s never even entertained the thought of being in a relationship before, let alone the prospect of marriage. The old Yolanda would’ve scoffed at her face when she went out to look for an engagement ring that you deserve; she could always feel the weight of the ring inside her pocket since she’s been carrying it around for a week already, waiting for the perfect moment to propose to you with the patience she’s learnt from you. She’s let herself be able to be vulnerable in front of you, something she has a hard time of doing because of bad relationship experiences in the past and it scares her that you mean so much to her that you’ll be able to break her heart in several pieces- but that is one of the the awful things you will never be capable of doing to her. Regardless, her love for you will always prevail despite all of the ups and downs you’ve faced and will encounter.
